The Beauty Beneath
by twostrandsofmelody
Summary: A darker E/C story. Not entirely sure where it will go, but I hope you'll join the ride with me. Set between Hannibal and the Masquerade.
1. Chapter 1

Alone. No human should have to be alone, to dwell on the sins of the past. No human should have to be tortured because of something he had no control over. No human should have to be subjected to the pain and the suffering that every new day brought. No human should be forced to live as a monster in the dark realms of the catacombs. Cursed by ever human and shunned by every face. No human should be attacked because of his birth defect.

But he was no human. Or at least he had lived his life on the assumption that he could not possibly be a human. Why would God curse any of his creations to bear such a hideous disfigurement and then the torment that went along with it? Because he couldn't be a creature of above, he was damned to be alone. God created humans to be part of a pair, to join together into one full person. But he was the Devil's Child, the hell spawn demon who would live forever alone because no one would ever accept him as a human.

Christine, his beautiful angelic soprano, would never be his. She would never accept his ugliness. What crime had he ever done that warranted him being damned to watch from the curtains as _his_ Christine threw her life away with the handsome Raoul de Chagny.

He knew he was living a lie if he was convinced that he was better for Christine than the wealthy Vicomte. He would provide for her a life of happiness, secured in her wealth and status. He could give her beauty.

All he had to offer was ugliness.

Why would Christine want his murderous hands to caress her unmarred, untouched skin? Even if she desired to feel his touch when he was masked, and cloaked with the air of the mysterious masked tutor – that would change when she saw the hideous ruined cheek.

It had already changed when she had removed his mask after _Hannibal_. Her next lesson had seen her more timid. Even if she denied any fear, her voice betrayed her. Everything about her betrayed her. She was wavering vocal, distant emotionally, and her eyes flickered with a fear that made his heart shatter into emendable pieces.

One touch was all it took. Her finger had only lightly grazed his twisted flesh when she tore the mask away. But that feather light touch was what had sealed her fate. No living being had ever touched his cheek. No one would ever touch Erik. But Christine had out of curiosity and a sick desire to know what lay underneath the porcelain white mask. The perfect mask that covered the hideous disfigurement.

Christine could never love that face. He knew all too well what his head elicited out of people. Hatred, loathing, fear, nausea, violence. Feelings he could not bear for Christine to know. Their lessons would stop if she saw his true face. How would she focus on singing when her mind would always see the ruined flesh.

The thick black hair was no more than a wig to conceal his sandy brown hair that could barely be called hair on the left side of his skeletal head. His skin was nearly translucent over the veins and bones of his skull. It had never formed the thick epidermis like the other half of his head. The pale, pasty flesh was pulled taught over prominent cheek bones. His eye lid was no more than a swollen socket, with flesh that sagged beneath his mismatched eyes. His perfect half of his face bore a piercing green eye, while the horrid face shone pale blue. He had seen eyes like his that were owned by blind men. But his vision in that eye was sharp and crisp. It was almost blinding how perfect he could see out of it, every line, every colour, every flaw. But a twisted excuse for an eye socket was not the only hideous part of his cheek. The sunken in cheek of an emaciated man, was in drastic comparison to his perfect cheek. The skin fluttered like a moth when he breathed, so translucent that his white teeth could be seen through it. His ear was hardly worth being called an ear, it was no more than a stump without the shell and the lobe. With his mask you were falsely lured into believing that he had an average nose. But when the perfection was ripped away you could the half nose that he had. With a near perfect line separating each part of his face, the nose was no more than a hole.

It had been so long since he had seen his own reflection, but he remembered well enough what his image was like. When that memory was drawn up, he could understand why _his_ Christine had chosen Raoul. There was not even a misplaced mark from the sun on the young man's face. Christine wasn't shallow, it was a natural decision to be lured by beauty. She was beautiful and she deserved to live every day with beauty.

But that would not stop the thorn in his heart to be hammered in deeper every time he watched Raoul leave her with a lover's kiss before he parted her dressing room, or every time he saw him protectively wrap his arm around her waist as they left for an evening's dinner. He was no more than a ghost in a mirror watching a life he could have had if God had been kind. If one thing could have been changed, and not even his face, he would have deserved Christine.

Murder.

A life of abuse tarnished who he would become. He had only known the smothering pleasure of a burlap bag over his twisted face, the warm comfort of rib crunching kicks, the gentle touch of a slicing whip, and reassuring cry of a ruthless mob. Why wouldn't he choose wrapping a noose around a man's neck and watching the life squeezed from him opposed to talking it through like a civilized individual? He wasn't a human after all so why should he abide by moral conduct? Why should he care about any other living thing?

Except for Christine.

Even since he had begun tutoring her at the young age of ten, when she was only beginning to blossom into a woman he had longed to give her the world. But his emotions for her, that instinctual fathering compassion had morphed into a longing to have her budding, succulent blossom. She was an addiction before he had ever had the pleasure to taste her. Now he never would.

With the Vicomte enjoying her subtle beauty, her shy propriety, her tender kisses, her warm delicate ivory skin. He had never felt a human hand against his skin that didn't intend to bring pain. The burning slap of a gypsy man was not the same as a caress from a beautiful woman. He had felt only the slightest pleasure from her unintentional brush.

Even those times he had let his hands wander over her clothed form when he had beguiled her with his seductive songs he had not even been able to feel the warmth of her touch. His hands were always gloved in black leather, preventing any gratification from their visits. If he felt her touch, felt her silken skin he would lose his mind.

He would lose any last ounce of humanity he may have ever contained. Like he had with that fleeting caress of her finger as she had pried his greatest protection from him. His final bowstring snapping in that moment of damning bliss.

Life was not worth living without Christine. He had planned his own suicide the night her father had brought her to the Opera Populaire. He was finally through with the tormented life he was leading as a prisoner of his own past. A lethal dose of opium would end his miserable existence.

But then, like the angel that Christine was, she came into his life. She was only a child and he was a grown man of twenty-one, but she filled his life with a passionate love. As much as he seduced her with his melodic tones, she seduced him with life.

Without her, what was he? If she married the Vicomte he would take her away from the Opera Populaire. She would no longer need to live in the dormitories; she would commute to and from rehearsals without any need to wait around. A Comtess would have no need to have an unnamed tutor, luring her to the underbelly after rehearsals. The Vicomte would dole out any number of money to bring the most world renowned tutor for her lessons. That was, if Raoul permitted his trophy to continue entertaining audiences. Perhaps he would be envious of the appreciative glares and wanting eyes, he would want her solely for himself. He would deny Erik of his air if he took her from the theatre.

How could he live without his most cherished aspect of life? Was there any redeeming quality left in his soul? Was there any beauty underneath?


	2. Chapter 2

"Come back tonight with me," Raoul smiled at Christine, bringing her hand to his lips. "Please, Christine."

"No, Raoul. My lessons are tonight."

Raoul pouted, chuckling, "You can't possibly need to practice every night."

"Four times a week and six during shows, is hardly every night Raoul. Please, we've been through this before. He'll be coarse with me." Christine shimmied her hand away from his adoring lips. "Please, do not get me in trouble." Christine glanced over her shoulder at the mirror, she wondered if her strange tutor was watching. He terrified her. Ever since his outburst when she had chanced the removal of his mask, she feared being on the wrong side of him.

"But every night that you do not dine with me feels like a hundred."

"Raoul, please." Christine rose to her feet, shaking his hand away as he tried to grab hers. "I will see you tomorrow. I'll meet you at le Café Fleurs for brunch. Will that do?"

"But Christine," Raoul huffed as she pushed him towards the dressing room door. "At least let me give you a goodnight kiss?"

Christine smiled at him, she leaned up and pressed her lips against his. Cautiously she cut the kiss short and pushed him towards the door again. "Goodnight Raoul."

"You want to get rid of me don't you?" Raoul mocked being wounded as she opened the door. "I will see you tomorrow for brunch. Goodnight."

Christine gave him a fleeting smile as she shut the door and locked it. Leaning heavily against the door she sank to the floor. Not even the sanctuary of her dressing room did she feel safe. She knew he was watching her. He was always watching her. Always just out of sight, in the shadows, above the sets, behind the curtains, below the trap doors, just around the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. The Phantom of the Opera was always inside her mind.

"_Christine_."

She looked up, staring at her own reflection in the full length mirror. But there, just barely visible was his shape. He was there.

"Mon Ange."

"_Christine_." The mirror slid open and he stepped through. He extended his hand towards her, beckoning her to him. "_Come to me Christine_."

Wordlessly, Christine rose to her feet clutching to her evening robe. "Mon Fantome." She reached out and took his hand, shuttering as his cool leather glove wrapped around her petite hand.

"Your lessons are cancelled for tonight."

Christine's eyes shot wide as he released her hand. It took a moment for the words to hit her and when they did she still couldn't understand why. "What?"

"Your lessons are cancelled." Erik drew the words out, making sure she understood what he said this time.

"But, why?"

Erik stared at her. No matter how angry he was at her, he couldn't control the warm bliss that even looking at her drew inside of him. He wanted to be angry with her, to yell at her and scorn her. He wanted to tell her how she broke his heart every time she kissed the Vicomte – but instead he stared at her and said the words silently in his mind.

"Please, you're scaring me."

Erik took a deep breath, "Goodnight Christine." He turned abruptly, taking one stride towards his mirror before Christine grabbed his glove hand and gripped his arm.

"Please."

"_Christine_," Erik snapped, he jerked around despite all of his self restraint and pried her hands from him with painful force. "Unhand me this instant!"

"Please, I'm sorry. I only meant-" Christine bit her lip, shying away from him. She kept close enough to attempt another halting effort. "I want to have my lessons tonight. Please."

"Christine," Erik gritted, his mismatched eyes flickering over her face. "I only thought it would save you from being tired tomorrow at brunch."

Christine gasped, covering her mouth in surprise," Please, he doesn't mean anything out of it. He doesn't understand how important my lessons are with you. He doesn't believe in you, I'm sure of it. But I do. I understand how important my lessons are. Please, I cherish them." Christine flew close to him, she nervously held his arm.

"You try my patience."

"Please."

Erik grimaced, "What will you do for me?"

"Anything." Christine swore, not knowing how serious that word was for Erik.

"Tonight you will attend your lesson bellow ground. However, you will not be returning as usual. You will stay the night in the swan bed and tomorrow morning you will awake for more lessons. Your _brunch_ will be dined with me."

Christine bit her lip to keep from protesting. She bowed her head and nodded, "Yes mon ange." She didn't even know his name. She had said she would do anything for him to have her lesson and she didn't even know his name. She trusted her angel not to take advantage of her, he wasn't like that.

"Come, we are wasting time." He extended his hand again and took hers, not waiting for her to take it. Erik led her down the stairwell, and guided her towards the grotto. Erik situated the boat on the shore, steadying Christine as she stepped into the boat.

He choked on the lump in his throat when he saw the fearful look that was plastered on her face. Had he honestly frightened his angel? Had his vain indulgence on her kindness scared her? "Christine."

Christine tilted her head up, looking to the masked man that was rowing the gondola. "Yes?"

"Do not think I have preyed on your kindness. Know that my wishes are innocent." Erik drew in a deep breath as he saw the muscles in her high cheeks relaxing.

"I know." Christine uttered quietly. She couldn't help but let her eyes linger on his face. She knew he was staring down at her with the same studying gaze, but it didn't dissuade her.

Erik turned his head back towards the water, feeling the dull throbbing in his chest. Every time Christine's eyes met his, he felt the weight of everything he had done in the world. She felt like redemption. He had heard of the conviction you felt when you found your salvation and Christine elicited all of those damning emotions.

"What is your name?"

"What?"

Christine trembled at his snap, "I do not even know your name."

"You do not need to know my name." Erik rasped, seeing the coast just in sight.

"You expect me to spend an entire evening in your realm of darkness and song?"

Erik ignored her as he continued rowing towards the coast. He jumped out of the boat, wading through the low water and pulling the boat to the coast. Reaching towards her, he extended his hand to help her out, but she ignored him. "_Christine_."

"What is your name?"

Erik glared at her, "You are wasting _my_ time."

Christine new she was behaving childishly. She knew that her Phantom did not tolerate nonsense. But she also knew that he did not know all of the ways he made her feel. How could he know that beneath corset and lace and layers of fabric, he made her burn in a way that Raoul failed to. It was a secret fire that he quietly stoked with each look, each word, each melody.

"Your name cannot be so secret that you cannot tell me."

"Why do you want to know it?" Erik snapped, recoiling his hand and turning away. He was tired of her petty troubles. She wanted to know too much. She had already removed his greatest secret in one swift movement and now she wanted to know what his name was. "What will you do with my name?"

"I will have a name to call you by." Christine stood, stepping from the boat and following him up the coast . "What is wrong with knowing your name? You know mine."

"Will you tell your Vicomte what my name is? Do you think if you utter some name to him that he'll believe that I am real? Not just some childish fantasy made real?"

"I want to know your name because..." Christine gulped, and closed her eyes. Why did she want to know his name? Besides to give her a word to have on her lips as she fell to sleep and a name to breath as she awoke in the mornings. "I do not know why." She couldn't tell him that she wanted a name for the phantom in her dreams.

"You do not need to know my name." Erik sat down at the organ, beginning to play. Hoping that it would drown out her questions. "Come, let's begin your lessons."

"Your name."

"Christine you are behaving childishly."

"You do not want to hear me say your name?"

"I want to hear you sing."

"Say your name and I will sing it."

Erik stared at her, studying her face. How could he deny his angel the privilege of saying his name? How could he deny himself? Those beautiful rosy lips forming his name. Erik fell into the rapture of her beauty, "Erik."

"Erik." Christine tasted the word, "Erik." She felt numb as watched him, his eyes were closed and his lips parted in pleasure at hearing her say his name. "Erik." Christine couldn't control her own hand as she reached out towards his mask. She knew what had happened the last time she had touched it. She would destroy such a beautiful moment with removing it again.

"_Christine_." Erik warned, as his eyes fluttered open and saw her hand posed close to the porcelain cover. "What are you doing?"

"I.."

"You lying Pandora. You think I am that foolish? I know you have some six fascination with what lies beneath this mask. You have your beautiful fop but you want to torture this hideous beast!" Erik roared, shoving her hand away and pushing her away. "You think I am so naive whelp don't you?"

"Please – Erik." Christine followed after him, drawing her dress up as she navigated over the rocks of the lair. "Please, that's not what I wanted to do."

"Leave."

"Erik, please." The name still felt foreign on her lips. "I didn't mean to! I didn't know what I was doing. Please. Don't make me leave." Christine tempted her fate, grabbing his arm and holding on. "Please."

"Christine you are trying my patience." Erik clenched his fist, feeling hot anger boiling in his veins.

Christine rose up on her toes, much as she would with Raoul, "Please?" Christine nimbly pressed her lips against his uncovered cheek. It felt like one of her dreams where she would kiss her strange tutor and he would sweep her off of her feet. But instead of being swept off of her feet, she heard him his in pain. She pulled back from the tender kiss and looked him in the eyes. "I-"

"Do not think you can convince me with little kisses. I know where your heart lies, don't think you can hide it from me." Erik turned away from her, feeling dizzy with pleasure. One little kiss, her lips pressed to his handsome cheek. He felt his heart swell with foreign happiness that felt like it could kill him.

**A/N: Notes? Like? Hate? My dear Opera Ghost, I'm humbled that you have chosen to comment on my phanfiction. You invade my every dream and my every thought. **


	3. Chapter 3

"Go."

"But-" Christine watched him as he strode away from her. He clutched his cheek as if he had been scolded in pain. "I agreed to disregard my brunch with Raoul. I agreed to stay here with you. I did nothing wrong."

Erik turned, his gazing falling heavily on her. How could she not understand what she did to him? Did she ignore the torment in his eyes? Did she misread his longing gazes and agony? "You did nothing wrong."

Christine bit her lip. Why did he have to be so flat when he was angry? She couldn't tell if he was agreeing or mocking her. She didn't dare to ask. He didn't like questions. She knew this and yet she still tempted her fate. "If you want me to go, then I will." With a gulp and a lingering look Christine turned away from him. Barefoot she stepped over the rocks as she made her way towards the coast.

"_Christine_." Erik wrenched from his gut, following after her. "I do not want you to leave." I never want you to leave.

Christine stared at her hands, wringing them together nervously. "I don't purposely anger you. You never let me know what I'm doing wrong until I've angered you." Her voice was no more than a whisper, terrified that she would frustrate him further.

Erik closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. This was the fear that he saw on her face that tore him in two. He didn't want her to live in such a fear of him. To see her trembling and cowering at his shape. "Then do _only_ things you know that please me."

"Then I will be limited to singing for you."

"And so much more." Erik tempted his own fate as he reached out and skimmed his hand along her shoulder.

"I only wish to please you," Christine fumbled at the words. "Erik."

His eyes darkened at her words. Did she not understand how powerful words were? Already she had sworn that she would do anything for him and now she said she only wished to please him. He would resist the dark deeds he longed to do with her. Christine in her silken white gown was like a pearl with in the darkness of his lair. He would do nothing to tarnish her. Not unless she pushed him to it. He had killed as though it was second nature - taking her would be no more than a blink of an eye.

"You please me far more than you are aware." Erik rasped, moving his gloved hand down her arm until he reached her hand. He grasped, entwining their fingers together. Repeating the motion with the alternate hand. He raised their clasped hands up, glancing between them.

"Why must you wear gloves?" The question fell from her lips without hesitation. She cringed, fearing a torrent of impatient words.

"I shield myself from feeling the silken touch of you."

Christine shook her hand free of his, attempting to jerk the leather from his hand. "But why?"

"Christine." Erik warned, releasing her other hand and turning away. His head was reeling with thoughts of her. Thoughts of one day being allowed to feel her soft, perfect skin beneath his hands. "Lessons."

Watching after him she wondered why the mystery of him was so beguiling. She wanted to know his every secret. No matter how dark. No matter how deadly. Once she was in his lair, there were no second thoughts. Raoul was an aftertaste while _Erik_ flooded her every sense.

"Come, Christine, you need to begin practicing for _Il Mutto_ if you expect to outshine Carlotta." Erik beckoned her to him as he sat down at the organ.

With sure steps Christine found herself standing behind him. Tonight's lesson felt surreal. It was unlike any lesson that she had even been through. Something brimmed just below the surface of their every word and every gaze. Had one tender kiss electrified them so? It was almost unbearable.

Did he feel that overwhelming blooming in his stomach? The all consuming fire that had begun to burn stronger each time their limbs bumped against one another.

A single touch had unhinged him. Had a brush disturbed him so it was only reasonable to expect that the feel of her precious lips pressed to his skin would drive him past the point of return. How could he ever let her go now? In theory admitting that the Vicomte would be a better choice for her life was easy, but in reality the thought of her marrying, bedding, and vowing her life to another man was sickening.

He was the one who had been there for her all of the years. He was the reason for her success. Everything she had, she could owe it to him. Did she honestly expect that the wealthy fop would have remembered his childhood friend if she had merely been a chorus girl? _No_. Her rising fame had restored some buried memory in him. He only wanted her for her appearances, her status, her outer beauty.

Did the Vicomte know her soul? One look within her hazel eyes, drowning in the light and the beauty that flooded every inch of her and he could read her. She was like an exquisite statute that a sculptor had worked his life to perfect. Her voice was like a chorus of angels.

How could anyone appreciate her the way he did?

"You should rest." Erik said as he finished the piece they had been practicing. The warm pressure of her hand on his back had finally become too much to bear without consequence.

"I will see you in the morning?" Christine whispered, stepping away from him reluctantly.

Erik rose to his feet, his mismatched eyes met hers and he lost track of what they were even talking about. Their gaze never separated as they stood there in silence. How could he control these urges that coursed through his veins, replacing any sense he had ever claimed to have?

"_Christine_." His eyes grew heavy as his hands unconsciously reached for her petite waist. He mentally urged her to push him away. But she stayed in place, doe eyes staring up at him. He glanced at her lips, breaking the eye contact. He wanted to posses her lips and prove to her who he was.

But there was fear that he would never be what she truly desired. Only in the sanctuary of his underworld did she seem to be lured to him. Those lips were lips that had kissed the Vicomte de Chagny. The young handsome lover he would never match.

"Goodnight." Erik turned abruptly, clenching his fists at the lost feel of her petite body. "Until the morning."

"Goodnight." Christine whispered, feeling the air she had been holding release from her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

The temptation to touch her soft exposed skin was strong. Her cheek, the curve of her graceful neck, her beautiful and elegant arms. She was asleep, she would never know he had indulged in the sensual touch of her perfect skin. Never know that he had taken advantage of her, no matter how innocently he meant it to be. She lay so sweetly, her back to him in sleeping perfection.

Flawless perfection.

Erik bit his leather glove off of his hand in one fluid motion and gently brushed his finger against the edge of her chin. She was warm to the touch, silken against his scarred knuckles. He allowed himself to ghost his fingertip against her cheek. He sucked in, flooding his lungs with air. She lips curved up in a smile.

Did she know? Or was it only a dream to her?

He trailed his fingers down the curve of her neck and down her arms with a fluid brushing motion. The feeling of another human's skin beneath his fingers set his soul afire. Even if she did not know what he was doing, she allowed herself the feeling of his touch.

She had said anything and all for him. What wrong was there in indulging in the feel of a human? He had never known a gentle touch. A gentle word. But here and now there was Christine. She could change his world and flood the darkness with heavenly light.

"Erik." Christine muttered in her sleep, her fists balled into her pillow. Erik recoiled, fearing he had been caught. Ready in a heartbeat to apologize for his crime. But his cowering was in vain. Instead of awakening and casting him from her presence, she continued to sleep.

"Erik." She mumbled again, stretching across the Swan bed. She rolled over, facing his direction. She burrowed her face into the pillows, his name heavy on her tongue. "Erik."

Erik watched her cautiously, wondering how it could be that such an angel spoke his name in her sleep. Did she dream of him like he dreamed of her? Why would he expect that she would dream of him? What would a beauty be to dream of a devil? Why tarnish her innocent dreams with the nightmare of his abhorrent face?

"Erik, _please_." Christine shifted in her sleep again, her fists tightening on the hold of her pillow. "Don't leave me."

His mismatched eyes widened as he realised that his speculations were true. She did dream of him. Her dreams, at least this evening, were of him. No beautiful Vicomte just a hideous masked man. She tossed and she turned, speaking his name from her rosy lips. Two syllables forming on her lips like a word she had been familiar with her whole life. The name Erik. It gave new life to the name he had hardly knew. She breathed life into everything she said. She breathed life into him.

"I promise you." Christine's voice sounded desperate as her hands unclenched their hold. Erik watched her lips as they moved as if she were kissing some phantom lover. He smirked as thought entered his mind.

Could he indulge in his dark desires and have her never know?

Erik bit the tip of his tongue as he kneeled beside her face. Her eyes were clamped tight in sleep, her features relaxed despite the desperation in her voice. Her lips moved so subtly, they were not speaking – that much he knew. But to kiss her without permission? Her dream of him could be nothing but a conscious fantasy that she could not even want.

But the fire she stirred in him was burning too hot for him to ignore it. He had taken what he wanted before. No second thoughts. A kiss was nowhere as punishable as a kill.

Erik leaned forward suddenly, his lips awkwardly met hers. He had never kissed anyone. No matter how hard he had tried to buy an evening to explore those uncharted territories, no one would take him. Now, if only in sleep, Christine willingly kissed him back. His eyes flickered open to see that she was still close lidded and peaceful, despite her lips moving so fervently against his.

This was what he was made to do. If only she were awake, willingly giving her permission to steal a kiss from her sweet lips. To drown together in the intoxicating feel of her silken lips moving against his misshapen and bloated lips.

Erik jerked back as he felt her hand resting on the back of his neck. She had awaken. But as he pulled away her arm fell limp against the wing of the Swan bed. His pleasure was fulfilled without repercussion. He deserved to know some tiny shred of happiness.

~o~

Christine awoke with a start, hearing the organ echoing through the chambers of the underbelly. The sweet tones and melodies he was caught in playing were not what had awoken her. They lulled her softly in her half awake state. Instead it was the end of terrible nightmare.

The flames at last consume us.

The fire, the passion, the betrayal, the pain, the kiss.

A sick and twisted dream that she hardly wanted to claim as her own. She would never do what she had done her nightmare. The first dream had been tender and sweet, more realistic then the distorted dream she found it morphed into. The first dream had felt so realistic, begging Erik not to leave her. Kissing him.

Her hand flew to her lips, that kiss had felt so realistic. Nothing like kissing Raoul. The dream Phantom had felt alive and warm. Kissing Raoul felt like an obligation, cold and dead against her lips.

But the nightmare was what concerned her. Betraying the Phantom. Removing his mask in front of an audience, the passionate atmosphere of red and flame. The power she felt that he had over her. Raoul with gendarmes in the wing, ready to kill her Phantom. His anger was unlike any she had ever seen when she had been with him. Erik, her Phantom, jerked and drug her down to the underbelly. A wedding dress and an attempt on Raoul's life.

It was nothing more of a nightmare. She wouldn't let herself betray her tutor. She owed Erik more than she could comprehend. The nightmare was no more than a terrible distortion of her fears. She had hardly seen what lay beneath his mask, a disfigurement of some sort, but nothing she would reveal in front of an audience. He did not deserve to be a spectacle.

Nimbly Christine rose from the Swan bed, slowly walking out of the chamber and into the main part of the lair. She could see Erik sitting at the organ, caught in musical creation. From the right side, he looked like every other man. He was handsome. But when you saw him from the front, you could see what was wrong with him, just hidden beneath the mask.

"Erik."

He turned, giving her an approving smile. "Did you sleep well?" Erik knew that he had enjoyed her sleeping. The taste of her lips on his was still there. The sweet, floral and honey taste. Did she taste him on her lips?

"I did. Thank you." Christine approached slowly; she glanced up at him but avoided his eyes. Her dreams had felt so real that she almost thought she had honestly kissed him. It had felt so real that she could almost describe his distinct flavour. He tasted like iron and music. At least her dream version had.

"If you are hungry there is fruit, bread, and cheese just over there. As well as a pitcher of wine and water." Erik gestured towards a table near the row of covered mirrors. Christine glanced between him and the food. Her stomach announced its hunger.

"Have you already eaten?"

"Yes." Erik replied smoothly, following her nevertheless towards the food. "What will you say to your precious Vicomte about your absence?"

Christine's eyes grew wide, she swallowed a piece of bread whole at the question. "I will tell him the truth."

"Which is?"

"That my music tutor decided that for the good of my career that I should focus on the more important aspect of my life."

Erik's eyes darkened, "Very good." The power he knew he held over her was intoxicating. To hear her say that his tutoring was an important aspect of her life filled him with pure happiness. It verged on an erotic sensation to know that he had a hold on the beautiful young soprano.

"It is true."

"I have no doubt." Erik held his hand out for her.

"Remove the glove." Christine gulped at her own words. She eyed the leather clad hand, willing him to obey and let her touch him.

Erik stared at his hand, before jerking the glove from his hand and tossing it carelessly to the ground. "Better?"

Christine slowly extended her hand, placing her small hand into his hand. She stepped closer to him, examining the scarred skin. "Your hands."

"A story for a later day."

Christine bit her lip, resisting the urge to question and press further. She was thankful to be able to feel his skin beneath hers. His hands were rough, so unlike Raoul's smooth hands. There was something stirring about the masculinity in the roughness of his well used hands. Raoul's grasp felt similar to any one of the girls in the ballet company. Delicate and well cared for. But Erik's were the calloused hands of a musician and the coarse hands of a mason.

"I'll look forward to hearing that story." Christine stroked her hands across the skin, taking his other hand and removing the glove. "Thank you."

Erik smiled, his mouth slightly separated as he enjoyed the feel of a willing human's touch. The sensation consumed him with pleasure. You could touch your own skin, but nothing beat the feeling of another human – one you cared for – tenderly touching you.


	5. Chapter 5

Erik couldn't help but be amused with Christine's satisfaction in sitting and fondling his calloused hands for what elapsed into over an hour. She seemed mesmerized by the scarred, rough skin she found there. Skin that he had been ashamed of and now took pleasure in having, pleasure in knowing that it pleased Christine.

Erik watched her as she examined his hands, studying the way her lips curled as she muttered to herself soundlessly. His body ached when she sucked innocently on her fat bottom lip, suckling on it without knowing the way it stirred him. To her the kiss had been a dream, but to him the kiss had sealed his fate.

"Did I ask you how you slept?" Erik asked, smoothly despite feeling a quiver in his throat, threatening to emerge.

"You did," Christine glanced up at him, "I replied that I did sleep well. I had very pleasant dreams."

"You did?" Erik swallowed hard, trying to keep the curiosity more conversational than truly inquisitive. The thought of Christine's dreams being pleasant as he heard his name on her lips over and over again and then, having sampled the exquisite lips – it stirred him deep into his black soul.

"I confess, it was a nightmare. But the nightmare had pleasant aspects." Christine ceased examining his hands, returning her hands to her lap shyly.

Erik's eyes darkened as the caresses stopped, disappointment flooding the soul as the word _nightmare_ sank in. She had had a nightmare all the while saying his name over and over again. Had she dreamed of the horrible flesh she had caught a brief glance on? The nightmare of his abhorrent cheek?

Christine looked up at him, seeing the impending anger in his mismatched eyes. They clouded as she met his eyes, she could see the disappointment of her words. Was she bold enough to say what she had dreamed of? Did she dare release such an intimate thought to him. "I dreamed," She sighed heavily, seeing him tense at her words. "I lifted your mask before an audience of people. They screamed and they ran in horror at what they saw."

His fists balled in his lap, the knuckles turning white. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because you were in the dream. You forced me down here, hunted down by a mob and Raoul. Oh!" Christine covered her face in shame. "I chose you. I chose you! But you let me and Raoul leave. I kissed you, oh how I kissed you."

Erik's mouth parted, drinking in her words slowly. To hear that in her dream she chose him and kissed him filled his heart with an overwhelming joy. "Did you know?" He questioned, almost tauntingly. "Yesterday you feared coming down here didn't you? Didn't you? But now you dream of choices being made and kisses being stolen."

"Yes." Christine trembled, looking up at him through her fingers. His stare reminded her of the stare he gave her in her dreams. It was a piercing glare that she could feel in her very soul. "The dream felt so real."

Erik sneered, rising to his feet and turning away. He loosened his cravat, feeling suffocated by the piece of fabric. "You should return to the world above, Christine. Where it is safer for you. Return to the world of beauty and light. Forsake this hideous realm of darkness. Before it is too late for you."

"But," Christine began, closing her eyes as she rose to her feet behind him.

"No "but"s ma petite fleur." Erik scorned, pulling his leather gloves on over his fingers. He couldn't bear to feel her cool flesh against his burning skin again. He craved her warm delicate lips. He had only been kissed by a sleeping woman, to think what kissing a conscious and willing woman would be like. He shuddered at the intoxicating thought.

"I've upset you." Christine said softly, reaching towards him and laying a soft hand on his shoulder. "It was only a dream."

"_Only a dream_." Erik mocked back, turning around in one startling quick movement. "Of course the desire to have me could only be a dream. Why would such a beautiful woman chose me when her other option was a handsome Vicomte? Why would _you_ choose_ me_?"

Christine cringed, feeling his finger's grip tightening on her arm and making her cower. "I would choose you."

"You would choose a man with a skeleton head?" He pulled her closer, "You would choose this murderous monster?"

"Please. Let me go."

"Exactly." Erik sneered, shoving her away from him. "Why would a beautiful girl like Christine Daae want a monster for a lover? My misshapen and bloated lips. My deformed half head. A jet black wig covering the hair that just _never_ grew. Or perhaps, the crème de la crème of the disfigurement is the nose that is not there, or should I say the half of a nose that is not there."

"That is not what I meant." Christine tried, failing at any serious tone. "Please, _Erik_, I'm scared."

"Be scared all you want." Erik hissed, brushing past her and striding boldly towards the coast. "Come, before that foolish fop raises the alarm."

"Please, Erik." Christine begged, following after him like a lost dog. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Silence," Erik growled, motioning for her to get into the boat.

And the gondola ride was eerily silent, only the ebbing and flowing of the water against the sides of the boat, gently lapping at the wood and echoing against the stone walls. Christine curled her knees close to her chest and studied Erik as he steered them along the grotto. No matter how hard she tried she always wound up irritating him.

"Good day Christine," Erik finally spoke as they stood outside of the doorway into her dressing room.

"Good bye _Erik_," Christine said softly, reaching blindly in the darkness to find his hand. Gloved, thought it maybe, but it was his hand. She squeezed, using his arm as support to bend forward as suddenly as she could, pressing her lips against his misshaped lips. Neither knew what to do. Kissing was nothing like kissing Erik. Raoul had been out of obligation, but kissing Erik was about the desire to do so.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik momentarily froze at the feeling of her perfect lips, so willingly, pressed against his deformed misshapen ones. His hand was trapped somewhere between their bodies where her hand still clutched at it. He pushed away from her, groaning inwardly at the loss of the contact.

"I'm-"

"Don't _even_ say it." Erik hissed.

"I'm not sorry."

"I said don't sa-" His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her painfully close to his face. "What did you say?"

Christine trembled, feeling his breath dancing across her face. "I said that I was not sorry." In the pale light cast from the torches farther down the passage way she could see his eyes, cast in an orange hue. There was a recognizable disbelief. Leaning forward, she brought her lips against his again, the second time she had stolen a kiss from his mouth. There was something different about the feel of his lips, something so different from Raoul's. They were rougher, differently shaped, even lopsided. But they flooded her with so much more passion than Raoul's soft and gentle lips had ever done before.

Erik had time to respond to the sudden pleasure of her lips this time. Hungrily, greedily, desperately he moved his lips against hers. There was no need to be gentle this time, she was fully awake. And _alive_. Erik groaned against her lips, deepening the kiss when she gasped for air.

Erik penned her against the stone wall, ignoring the feel of her fists clutching his coat or her soft gasps every time he deepened the kiss or the fact that she was trembling beneath his rough hands at her petite waist. He had wanted to kiss her like this since he had first seen the innocent soprano when she had blossomed into a woman and had danced so flawlessly across the stage. Even more now that he had felt those flower petal tender lips moving against his deformed monster's lips. He _needed_ her.

He broke away from her lips, kissing along the upward curve of her cheek. His fingers bit into her hip, pulling her towards him. "_Erik_!" She gasped, jerking her head away from his ministrations. She tried to pry herself from his heavy hold, his intoxicating hold. "Stop."

"Never." Erik gritted, his hands sliding up the curve of her sides. "I want you."

"Please, not like this." Christine pushed at his chest, trying to keep him away from her. "Please, I'm not saying I don't want you. Just, not now and not like this."

Erik pressed his lips against her, knowing that he was damning himself if she was refusing him and he still continued. He broke away in one heart stopping moment, "Go now, but know that you are _mine_."

"Yes, mon ange." Christine trembled, feeling her legs bending at the weight of her body. She stumbled forward trying to catch her footing. Did she dare correct him and say that no matter how intoxicating his kiss was, no matter how right it felt, no matter how much she enjoyed it – she was Raoul's. She was the future Vicomtess de Chagny, not the future Madame Opera Ghost.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, _Christine_." Erik rasped into her ear as she passed by him. His heart flooded with thrill of knowing he had finally kissed and been kissed. And of all of the people in the world that had given him that pleasure, it had been _his _Christine. Never again would the poor, hideous, Erik be able to say that no one had cared enough to share an intimate moment with him.

~o~

Christine laced her Pointe shoes, securing the ribbons before rising up on her feet. Her heart was still pounding from the experience of the morning; her lips ached from where he had been not so gentle with them. Would anyone be able to tell? Or would they just believe it had been from the Viscomte's not-too-gentle kiss. Christine stepped into the rosin, making sure the shoes would not slip around during rehearsal.

"Christine!" Came the exasperated voice of the Viscomte as he pushed his way through the chaotic backstage.

"Raoul," Christine replied, giving him a calm smile.

"You had me worried sick! You never came to brunch and there was no word sent. Where have you been."

Christine bowed her head, turning away from him. Where had she been? Being tutored by her masked maestro and experiencing mind dizzying kisses from Erik - that he could never match. "My lessons could not be cancelled. My teacher would be cross with me if I missed them." He was cross with her even when she didn't miss lessons.

"This tutor does not control your life, Christine. We had plans. Does your fiancée's plans not come before your elusive tutor's?"

"Raoul, please don't." Christine pressed her palm against his chest, keeping her eyes low. She couldn't look him in the eyes. "I have to think about my career. I am first a dancer, second a singer, and then I am your future wife."

"Christine, when we marry." Raoul placed his hand over her hand, squeezing it gently. "When you are Vicomtess; you will be my wife first, my children's mother second, the Vicomtess third, and then fourth you will be a performer."

Christine gulped, her eyes shooting up to meet his. "Raoul, you cannot expect that I will cease my career when I marry you."

"You will no longer need this petty career to survive. You will have the wealth of the de Chagny name. You will be the one sitting in the box seats watching a show."

"No!" Christine pushed away from him, "You cannot take me away from the theatre."

"_Christine_," Raoul hissed, pulling her back towards him. "I love you." He dipped down and kissed her lips, trying to pry her lips apart with his tongue.

Christine shoved away from him, "Do not try to sway my opinion on this matter, Raoul, with sweet words and heady passion."

"That was not what-"

"I need to go, rehearsal will be beginning." Christine felt her stomach turn at the thought of leaving the Opera House. She was certain she could sway Raoul's ideas. He had to know how much she loved the theatre. What would she be without it?

Christine glanced around her as she headed through the maze of sets, chorus girls, stage hands, and supervisors. She could feel someone's eyes on her, someone who she knew was always watching her. Where had he concealed himself? Above her, somewhere in the rafters and the tangle of ropes and scaffolding? Or perhaps he was somewhere behind a wall, some clever way of moving around the Opera House – like the mirror in her dressing room.

"Christine!" Meg shouted, motioning for her to come quickly. With a second glance around Christine forgot her search for the Opera Ghost's hiding spot. "Where have you been all morning?"

"I had my lessons." Christine replied with a bright smile. "I did not miss anything did I? He knows my schedule, he wouldn't jeopardize my dancing."

"Of course not. I only ask because I did not see you in the dormitories last night either. I thought, perhaps, that you and Raou-"

"No."

"You were quick to answer there."

"I was raised better than that."

"He is your fiancée."

"Not officially. Besides, I will not slump that low until I am legally his wife." Christine laughed, tilting her head when Meg did not laugh. "What is wrong?"

"Are you truly the _only_ Ballerina here with some dignity intact? How have you avoided every other patron's advances?"

"I guess," Christine glanced around the stage with a soft smile of her lips. "I guess an angel is watching over me."

"Your angel of music?" Meg asked teasingly, nudging her friend in the ribs.

"_My_ angel of music."


	7. Chapter 7

"Christine-"

_Christine_.

"A good ballerina is one who is attentive." Madame Giry scolded, her cold eyes staring at Christine as she stared blindly off into the auditorium.

Christine's eyes shot wide as she turned to see who it was who had been talking to her. From the look on Madame Giry's face she figured she had done something wrong. "I'm, I'm sorry." She bowed her head apologetically. "I am not myself this morning."

"I have noticed. Come. We're practicing our balancé moves. If you would care to join us." Madame Giry clapped her hands together, beckoning the brunette girl back.

Christine shook her head. How could the Phantom be there inside her mind? When Madame Giry had spoken her name, she had heard his voice flood her mind and soul with a sweet melody that was her name sung by his seductive voice. He was always there inside her mind.

Even now, she knew he was there. Somewhere. Watching.

"Christine, must I send you back to the dormitories?" Madame Giry gritted, "You are being a very inattentive student today. I am not wasting my breath any longer. Pay attention or be punished."

"I'm sorry." Christine breathed, feeling her cheeks heat with a blush as the eyes of the ballet company fell on her. She didn't mind having the Phantom, Erik's concealed gaze on her but a stage full of people was unbearable. "I'm not meaning to disruptive."

"Once more and you will be removed from the stage." Madame Giry shouted, motioning for her to begin the waltz step.

Christine moved in accord with the rest of the girls, but her eyes never stopped searching the corners of the auditorium. She knew he was somewhere up there.

There! In Box Five. She knew she had seen the swish of his black cape. Perhaps, even the flicker of a flame against his stark white mask.

_Christine._

"Christine!" Madame Giry was suddenly standing before her. "I am sorry, but you must go to the dormitories for the remainder of the morning. Perhaps by then you will learn to concentrate on the task at hand instead of letting yourself be caught in some sort of daydream. Go now and cease this waste of space."

Christine bit her lip, nodding shyly. "I'm sorry Madame Giry." What was wrong with her? Why could she not focus on dance? It wasn't that hard.

She didn't want to go back to the dormitories, they were empty and boring and unbearably stuffy. Instead, she felt that it was due time to visit the chapel. She needed time to talk to her father. Perhaps he would give her some divine answer to the thousands of questions buzzing around her mind. Why did she feel this way? It was an all consuming dizzying and mind numbing feeling that was overwhelming her. Her veins were coursing with the thought of the passion that swept through her at the touch of her lips to Erik's.

With the graceful steps of a ballerina Christine descended the stairs down towards the chapel, humming softly the song that she had spent a good portion of the morning trying to perfect with her tutor. Was her father proud of where she was now?

Christine lit a candle, moving towards the half melted candle in front of her father's image. She lit the candle, kneeling before the image and blowing out the other candle. "Father, forgive me for I _have_ sinned." Christine sat quietly, mulling over the thoughts that swam around her mind. "I am engaged to that boy, you remember him I'm sure. Raoul de Chagny, a Vicomte. You taught him violin, but he was rather untrainable. I believe you said he didn't have the temper for music. It's not official. There's not even a ring yet. But he's made it well known already."

Christine sighed, stroking her finger along her lower lip. "But then, there's _him_. My angel of music. The angel you swore you'd send to me as you lay on your death bed. I know that in the Bible the angel of music was Lucifer, the devil himself. He was banished because of his desires to be above God. To a lake of fire. And father, my angel of music has a lake in his lair. Not of fire, but of crystalline water. But he's not like the Devil. His face." Christine covered her face at the thought of when she had uncovered it. "He wears a mask that conceals some sort of horrible scaring. Perhaps from fire, or acid-"

"Or birth."

Christine leapt to her feet, whirling around so fast that her skirts brushed against the candle and causing it to tumble to the ground, setting the edge of her skirt on fire. In a nervous haste she started to pat out the fire with her pale hands, hissing in pain as the fire licked her smooth skin.

"You were listening!" Christine shouted in a hushed voice, staring at the masked man she had just been speaking of.

"I am _always_ listening." Erik laughed, "You do not think that I am the angel of music?"

"Not Lucifer at least."

"But perhaps a friend of his?"

Christine wilted slightly, nursing her burned skin by suckling it with her lips. "You say then, that you are an ally of Satan?"

"I was known as the Devil's Child for the longest part of my life."

Christine's eyes opened wide, "What sort of person would call you that?"

"More people than I'm sure you could imagine," Erik replied coldly. It had been nearly two decades since his last encounter with a gypsy man, a whip, and a vicious crowd – but the agony of it all still felt fresh.

"But why," Christine asked, stepping towards him as she looked at the red welt on her hand.

"Let me see it," Erik breathed tightly, reaching out for her petite hand and holding it gently in his black leather clad hand. "I am sure you remember the scars of my hands."

"Yes."

"There are _many_ more that match those. A constant reminder, on nearly every inch of my body, of what I am."

"What are you?" Christine asked with a sigh as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the angry sore. It did not take any pain away, or magically heal the wound, but his cool lips against it flooded her senses.

"I am a creature of how I was raised." Erik replied, letting the seductive tones of his voice envelop her. "I am nothing like your beautiful fop. This Phantom is as wicked inside as the wickedness of my 'horrible' face."

"I didn't mean it." Christine's eyes flew open. When had she got so close to him? His white mask was hardly a breath away from her own face. "It was the only way to explain it."

"I know I am horrible," He inched his face closer. "I know that my face, my body, my mind, everything that is mine is horrible. Except-" He jerked her closer, his hands finding their seats on the swell of her hips. "For you."

"I.. I am. Are you saying?" Christine gulped, resting her hands on his chest as he pulled her flush to him.

"Yes." Erik smiled cruelly, "You are _mine_."

Christine felt light headed as she stared into his mix matched eyes. He didn't feel like he was only in front of her, unbearably close to her. But he felt as though he was inside her mind. She could feel him possess every corner of her being. Her eyes fell close as she melted into his sturdy arms. He was like stone against her pliable body.

"I am yours?"

The inflection on the end, the question, tore a hole inside Erik's heart. Of course she was his. Wasn't he the one who taught her voice to sing, her heart to swore, her eyes to see?

Her eyes flew open as she stared into his eyes, "I can see it."

"See what?"

"The beauty underneath." Without a second to spare she ripped the mask away from his face in a blur of movement.


	8. Chapter 8

Christine was well aware of the feeling of her petite hip coming in contact with the hard, unforgiving, stone floors of the Opera House. Not from dancing, most falls from dance mistakes were landed on the less unforgiving wooden floors. No, this fall, was entirely her fault in an unpractised manner. But this time, instead of throwing mean hearted curses at her, instead of screaming and shielding his face. Erik lunged at her, crushing her to ground beneath his surprising weight. He had always given her the impression of a slight man, perhaps only slightly heavier than she was. But, he was heavier than Raoul felt when he would try to get to cosy with her against a wall. Erik was the weight of well toned muscles, honed from hours of masonry.

Erik was silent as he pinned her to the floor. The thought that he was above _his_ Christine, his sheer masculine form pressed against her feminine body, hadn't set in yet. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. It was then that he realised what sort of position he had gotten her into. Her withering beneath him clued him into the interesting position he had gotten himself into. The blinding thoughts that threatened to consume his reasonable thoughts roared inside his mind as he stared down into her perfect, heart shaped face.

He opened his mouth to speak but instead found only silence coming from his bloated, misshapen lips. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to formulate the words in his mind into a comprehendible language. Her warm, glowing, living, thriving form was beneath him. He was as close to Christine as he would ever be. He didn't deserve to feel her warm, unclothed skin, against his own bare skin. No matter how starved and determined he was to sample her flesh, he resisted the primal urges.

"Return to me my mask." Erik gritted finally, lacking the strength that he usually used when he was pressed firmly against Christine Daae in a seductive and passionate position.

"Remove your hand's grasp and I will." Christine bit back, nervously running her tongue along her lower lip and surprised when she saw Erik shudder as he swallowed his drink. It was a relief to know that Erik was in fact a functioning male, she was not naïve enough to not understand what that feeling pressed against her was.

Erik complied, releasing the wrist that held his mask hostage. She didn't hand the mask back, instead she let it drop blindly behind her head as she brought her hand up to cup his cheek that was marred with disfigurement.

So what if he wasn't a "perfect" individual. Who truly was? Everyone was hugely flawed in some aspect.

"Christine." Erik snapped in a low, threatening voice. "Return to me, my mask."

"No."

"Why?"

Christine laughed softly, her voice like a chime in the wind. "Because I want to study your cheek. It's strange and unusual and I want to understand it thoroughly inside and out."

"You are a fool to willingly subject yourself to the horrors of this face."

Christine leaned up and caught his misshapen lips with her graceful and still nervous lips. She wanted to prove to him that she accepted him, despite the horror that his face did honestly show. But Erik remained an unmoving, solid force above her. She moved her lips against his, begging him to respond in some way. Her gasp broke apart her kiss as devilishly ground his hips against hers.

"Is that what you want?" Erik rasped, grabbing her wrists in one hand and cupping her cheek with the free hand. He gave no room between them, letting his full weight rest atop her. "I am not your fop, I do not pretend that I have control for the sake of propriety and the virtue on the gentry class. I am a ruthless vagabond who takes what he wants." And until this moment had never been so intimately close to another human being. That was why he lacked control. Over thirty years of being denied the joys of the flesh had created a creature that couldn't control himself.

"Erik." Christine trembled, her eyes as wide as saucers as she stared up into the face with its mismatched eyes.

"Yes _Christine_?" Erik purposely bucked his hips against her again, making his desire all the more abundantly clear. There were two parts of his brain warring against each other. One part was telling him to stop this harassment and cease hurting his Christine, she was as naïve as he was and didn't understand the affect she had on him. The other part was screaming at him to finally have is way with her. She was after all the only female that had ever willingly kissed him. What did it matter if he would have to take her with a little force, she'd give in after a little while.

"You're hurting me." She jerked her arms that were tightly ensnared in his stone like grip. If she could have use of her hands she wouldn't mind the position. What was she saying? Christine Daae would never say such a thing. What would her father say to her? He would be ashamed of her accepting such wanton behaviour as alright. She was one, if not the only, closed-legged ballerina in the entire company. She wouldn't let the elusive Opera Ghost strip her of her future husband's marital right.

Erik wilted at the strained sound in her voice. He had left his mark no doubt on her hip, from the fall, and her wrists, from his tight grasp. Her lip, he noticed as he studied her face for the last intimate time, were still swollen and red from his bruising force when he had bid her good-bye. He groaned as he pulled away from her, his fists tightly clenched at his sides as he stared down at her form. Her chest heaved in uneven rises and falls. He watched her as she laid there with her back flush to the cold stone for a few moments, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. She looked like a fallen angel. Her hair pillowed behind her and her white ballet skirt fanned out beneath her.

"Christine?" Erik tested his voice, wondering if he had managed to gain composure of himself. Her eyes flickered open and she stared at his hand as he offered to help her up. She placed her delicate hand into his leather clad had, hardly having to exert any effort as he lifted her up. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Christine lied, rubbing her hand against her sore hip. She glanced back at the floor and leaned down to pick his mask up. She studied the white shield in her hand before silently offering it to him. She looked up at his face, meeting his mismatched eyes. He was beautiful in his own unique way.

"Thank you," Erik muttered, holding his mask in his hands.

"Why aren't you putting it back on?" Christine asked quietly as she tilted her head curiously. Her eyes were still studying the misshapen scar like flesh on his cheek, the pits and the translucent flesh that puffed out with each breath, and the lack of a full nose.

"I would have to leave to put it on. It does not just stick to my face like magic. I use a salve-"

"I'm sorry!" Christine gasped, realising that his mask was held to his cheek by a glue like substance. That was why he had shrieked so violently when she had ripped it from his skin. The angry red flesh was irritated and injured from her action. "I didn't know, please. Please! I'm so sorry!"

"Christine, shh. You didn't know." Erik replied, smirking at her compassion for his distorted skin. "The pain is nothing in comparison to past pain."

A tear slid down Christine's cheek as she reached out to touch his face. Erik jerked at the feeling of her cool hand against the skin that burned like fire. "Does it normally hurt?"

"No." Erik tried to hold his breath. There was something more grotesque about the flaring skin of his cheek when breathed than the rest of the disfigurement. "It's sensitive but never painful unless, well someone removes forcibly."

"Forgive me."

"I already have." Erik met her eyes, seeing the tears welled up in them. "Do not cry for me Christine."

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Christine muttered as she continued to explore his disfigurement. Her eyes widened as noticed a difference in hair colours between his jet black hair and a few strands of sandy brown hair that curled around where his ear should have been. "Do you wear a wig?"

Erik grimaced, "Enough!" He turned away from her, covering his cheek with his hand. "I will see you tonight at your lessons. Return to your ballet."

"But, I was punished for being distracted. There is no ballet for me today. We could continue my lessons."

"I need time alone." Erik set his jaw hard as he studied the ballerina. "Go rest in the dormitories."

"But-"

"No buts. _Go_."


	9. Chapter 9

Christine was incredibly lucky to have been allowed the pleasure of leaving Erik still the upright virgin that she was. It was, perhaps, his own innocence that had kept her intact. He had never imagined that in his life he would be granted that moment. A moment alone with Christine where, despite layers of garments, he was able to be pressed between her dancer's legs. A moment of sheer authority over her that left both of them breathless.

But she would no doubt return to her handsome lover, forgetting the passion and the beauty of such an intimate moment with her masked tutor. She would forget the feel of his misshapen lips sliding against hers in an overwhelming kiss.

Erik could weep at the way that such a touch had broken his heart into two. If her simple brush against his deformed cheek had broken him, then he was damned to burn in the fires of an eternal Hell with the kisses and touches she had displayed towards him in the last day. If he had taken her like he had desired to, he would have died. He didn't deserve the beauty of a moment like that with Christine.

Christine deserved her first time to be with someone handsome and whole. Someone who could perform for her the epitome of perfection on her wedding night. She deserved a room that was bathed in warm golden candlelight and not blotted out by darkness to conceal the face she had already seen. He wouldn't ruin an intimate moment with Christine by forcing her to stare up into the hideous abomination that was his face.

But she had stared up into that face, even dared to touch it with her curious exploring fingers, and kiss it. Christine had defied the logic that for so long he held to. No one could accept him for his face. Except Christine had done it now. She had accepted him like the virgin angel that she was. But he couldn't let her mar her perfection with his sin. To steal her innocence and lose his own seemed to be a sin far worse than murder. He had spilled the blood of many poor souls, but to draw _that_ blood from Christine was not his right in life.

He didn't deserve to take her body when he possessed Christine's voice, her mind, and her soul already. He swore that he owned Christine, that she was _his_ – but he was willing to let the fop be her first and only. He could deny himself the joys of the flesh that he longed to sample. He wanted to know how it felt to be one with another human being. Not like the exquisite feel of a kiss, that until mere hours ago he had also been denied. He wanted to know the true meaning of bodies entwining in passion, two hearts made one, two wholes combined into one.

If there was anyone that he had a chance with experiencing such breathtaking and blinding beauty with, it was Christine. But he could not bear to break her heart by forcing her into his bed. It would be force no matter how willing she was to be with him. She was innocent enough to convince herself that she had to please him like she had always done. Her kisses were no doubt in response of some obligation she had convinced herself she to him. They were not true affections, who could willingly show affection to a hideous monster like him? When a mother couldn't love her own son for his unfortunate face, why would a young, living, angel chose him? Not when there was a handsome and rich fop begging for her hand and her heart.

Raoul had a world of beauty and safety to offer Christine while Erik could only provide a dark cavernous world beneath the Opera House bound to the maniac maestro that made his life by composing music and murder. That was the difference between men. Raoul had pure intentions despite his immoral behaviour with past suitors and friends of the night, while Erik had darker intentions with an innocent and previously untouched body. They were polar opposites, and to Erik he was not the most favourable selection.

~o~

Christine did not want to be left alone to mull over the last eighteen hours of her life, but all alone in the quiet dormitory posed the perfect opportunity for her mind to argue with itself. She lay haphazardly spread across the dormitory bed, the very one that she no longer liked because she had experienced the lush comfort of the swan bed bellow the Opera House. The bed she wished she could return to nightly, but _he_ would never allow it.

Erik treated her as though she were a fragile porcelain doll that would break at the slightest touch, despite the two occasions he had thrown her to the floor like disobedient dog. He contradicted himself more than she contradicted herself. He would deny himself of her touch, shy away and become coarse and then he would throw her to the ground and pen her beneath him as though she were a wanton whore for punishment.

She would not allow herself to be treated like that. If her were going to press himself against her amidst layers of clothes then he should follow through with the actions and not leave her to attempt to unwind the coil that was tightly wound inside of her.

What was she saying? What was her mind thinking? Where did these fantasies of letting him have his way with her come from? Was it the ballerinas that so frequently talked about their latest conquests as the laced their shoes? Or perhaps the chorus girls who talked so openly about last night's screwing as the powdered their faces?

The dark fantasies that played in her mind could only come from an outside source when her own experience was limited to bating away Raoul's adventurous hands and feeling _him_ pressed against her hip as he cradled her against a wall passionately. But never had Raoul's advances flooded her mind with such sweet delicious feelings. Never had they set a fire burning inside her belly that she feared wouldn't be doused. Never in her life had she felt such longing for another human being.

Until Raoul had reappeared in her life she had never kissed a man, except a childish kiss she had shared with Raoul when they were very young. But she had thought that his kisses were satisfying, that that was how kissing a man was supposed to feel. She wondered why it was that any of the ballerinas enjoyed kissing, it felt cold and unfamiliar.

Erik's kiss had turned her soul inside out and flooded her veins with a strange dark desire. Now that she was alone and away from Erik, no longer feeling the strange cold heat of his body pressed close to hers she felt incomplete. It had first been his voice that left her ears longing to hear it again, then his music that left her soul striving to experience it again, then his touch that left her skin crawling for the slightest brush, her lips thirsted to feel his consuming kiss, and now he left her body aching to feel him everywhere.

She begged for God's forgiveness for the sinful nature of her thoughts, but they filled her with such bliss that she felt that they could not be wrong. How could something so glorious be wrong? Wrong was the fact that she felt confined to the silly decision to marry Raoul. Perhaps it was some providential blessing that it had not been made official yet. She still had time to escape from the binds of a marriage she didn't truly want. Was this the answer to her prayer? Her father's heavenly guidance?

Bless his soul if he was guiding her towards the right decision. He had always told her to follow her heart. To look with her heart and not with her eyes, the heart always knew and the heart never lied.

With Meg's encouragement she had thought Raoul was the answer to her prayers. She had knew him once and it only seemed like God's doing to bring him back into her life for some reason. But now it seemed like a terribly wrong choice. She didn't love Raoul, but she wasn't certain if she loved her Phantom.

"Christine?"

Christine bolted upright in her bed, seeing Meg standing in the doorway of the dormitory. In her hand was a red rose, tied with a thin black ribbon. "What is that?" She knew exactly what it was, it was a token she had become all too familiar of with Erik.

"Mother says that this was just _delivered_ for you. As well as an order from the higher power insisting that you are to be returned to rehearsal with no further repercussions. The owners as well were just informed that you are to play the lead for _Ill Mutto_. Mother says it's ludicrous for Carlotta to accept the role of the Page Boy. Come, before there is any further insanity caused in your absence." Meg passed the rose to Christine, giving her a slight smile. "Who is it from?"

"It is from _him_." Christine couldn't help but let a bright smile form on her lips. Despite whatever madness Erik was causing with the Populaire, she knew that it was not over. She could control the rest of her decisions. She would break off her engagement with Raoul and convince Erik to allow himself to accept her. It would work. She was certain of it.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I did warn that this would be a darker phanphic. I apologize if it is too dark. I'm really enjoying the darkness of this story. I feel like it's forcing me deeper into the characters. **

"_You_!" Christine had hardly walked onto stage before Carlotta was rushing at her, wide eyed and furious. "You little toad! You little _whore_."

"Excuse me?" Christine's jaw dropped open as Carlotta grabbed her arm and drug her across the stage like a child in need of discipline.

"You think that you can sleep with the young patron and get your way. Don't you?"

"Never!" Christine gasped, jerking out of her clutch. "I don't know what you're meaning."

"You think that you can be the star of _Ill Muto_, not because you deserve it but because you're sleeping around with that precious little Vicomte de Chagny." Carlotta gestured towards the two owners, Madame Giry, and Raoul.

Christine cringed. Carlotta was far away from the truth. She didn't want to ever sleep with Raoul, not now not ever. Especially to gain favour. Despite the fact that just being around Erik was enough to gain favour with him.

"I will inform you, la Carlotta, that I have never slept with _anyone_ and never will to get anything." Christine met Raoul's eyes, seeing a little flicker hurt there. "What is this about role decisions?"

Madame Giry stepped forward, motioning for Carlotta to keep silent. "We have been informed by the Opera Ghost of his preferred casting choices."

Christine turned as Meg grabbed her elbow, slipping her arm through the gap and giving Christine a reassuring smile.

"And it is I?" Christine asked hesitantly, feeling like a caged animal with so many eyes on her. It wasn't like performing in front of the audience. They loved and adored you. They were in the moment with you. But, here, now so many people were criticizing her and feeling bitter all at once. It was overwhelming.

"Yes." Carlotta snarled, faking an overly dramatic cry into the arms of Piangi.

"But we cannot do this." Andre shouted, comforting his leading lady Prima Donna. "Carlotta will play the lead role."

"That monstrous man does not control us." Firmin retorted, giving Christine a scoffing look. "I don't see why the _Opera Ghost_ has such high favour for a little chorus girl such as you. Unless he is both maniac and Vicomte." He cast a sideways glance towards Raoul.

"I will inform you now that I am not this masked lunatic." Raoul snapped, with an exasperated laugh.

"He is not a lunatic!" Christine burst out defensively, feeling her cheeks heat red with embarrassment. "Raoul I mean," She lied to cover the outburst, "He is not this Opera Ghost."

"And, how _exactly_ would you know?" Carlotta questioned suspiciously, glaring at Christine with cold eyes.

Christine flustered, glancing to Meg who gave no real support. "Raoul and I have known each other since we were both young children. If he were the Opera Ghost he would have contacted me before appearing as the Vicomte. Wouldn't he? Besides hasn't the legend been here for long over ten years?"

Madame Giry stepped forward, "Please, please. Since no one else seems to be attempting order. I will. Andre, Firmin, Raoul if you could please move your conversations to the offices. Carlotta, Piangi please move to the wings of the stage. Girls, girls, ah, please move down stage to listen to Monsieur Reyer play the ballet from Act III of _Ill Mutto_."

Christine scurried with Meg down stage, not wanting to cause any further trouble. "Christine!" She turned to see Raoul motioning for her to follow him and the two managers. "There are things we need to discuss."

Christine glanced to Madame Giry, who shrugged and nodded her head acceptingly. Christine nervously followed after Raoul, Andre, and Firmin. She had only been to the offices once or twice. The first time had been with father when he was arranging for her to come here at his death, that was before she knew that he was aware of his impending death. The second time was when she had arrived with Madame Giry to fill out the paperwork after her father's death.

Christine slipped into the office behind Raoul, closing the door behind her. "What is it?" She asked innocently, glancing between the men's faces. "I honestly, haven't meant to cause any trouble."

"It's not that," Raoul said as he placed a protective hand at the small of her back. "I feel that, now, would be an appropriate time to announce our announcement."

"Our announcement?" Christine questioned vaguely, tilting her head in confusion. Then the realisation struck her and she felt her heart sink. If Raoul was going to tell the managers it would be a mere hour before the whole company knew and then the whole of Paris. He wasn't giving her time to explain herself.

"The announcement of our engagement."

Christine felt her heart stop as the word flew into the air, never to be concealed again. It was out and there was no recapturing it. "Our engagement." Christine faked a smile, pretending to stare up at Raoul adoringly as he kissed her hand.

"With all of this hub bub I thought that it was only right that I announced our engagement to you both. I did not want it to seem deceiving or hidden. I do hope that you won't consider it as a hindrance to Christine's blossoming career."

"Of course not. When love is sprung you much capture the delicate bud before someone else snatches it up." Andre quipped with a smirk. "So, la Carlotta was correct then about your _relationship_?"

"There is a relationship," Raoul smiled at Christine lovingly. "But there are some things we shall wait on for marriage. Which is one thing that I need to bring up. Once we are married, of course, I anxiously await an heir." Christine felt her stomach roll at his words. How could this happen when she had decided to break off this engagement? "We need to discuss what will happen in the case of Christine's pregnancy and her career."

"She will have to be let go."

"No!" Christine gasped, looking to Raoul desperately. She couldn't break off this engagement now without casting shame and embarrassment on Raoul. "Please, you couldn't let me go. Raoul, we are not even married yet. Let us discuss these matters closer to our wedding."

"Why should wait?"

"When _would_ you marry?" Firmin piped up.

"Soon."

"After the New Year." Christine glanced at Raoul. "Let me finish out this season, please."

"Of course."

~o~

Erik felt his heartache with the reality of what he had expected would come sooner or later. Nothing went by unnoticed by the Opera Ghost. He saw everything, heard everything. Knew everything. He knew, sometimes, more than he wished he knew. If his curiosity had not gotten the best of him he could have lived blindly under the assumption that Christine truly cared for him. But now, he realised, that he was being played for a fool. Did she only show him attention to appease him? Did she think that fooling the Opera Ghost was the best idea?

Their lessons would have to cease now. How could he teach her knowing that she was the future Vicomtess de Chagny, the future mother of the fop's children. The very thought made him sick. He could replace Christine, find a new student to tutor. Many of the chorus girls had potential, though some much more wanton than Christine. It would be a new experience for him. A less shy and timid student. Perhaps it would prove better for the lessons.

Who was he kidding? Christine could never be replaced.

Christine was the love of his life that he could never release no matter how hard he would try. She was imprinted on him like the scars from the beatings he had once endured. But her imprint stung worse than any whip ever had. She cut him to the very core. If you cut open his figurative heart, you would find Christine was the life blood that pumped through his veins. She was what had kept him living. He had been so close to ending his miserable life when the young, ringlet headed, orphan arrived at the Opera House. Changing his life forevermore.

How was he going to release her now? He had tasted the sweet nectar of her lips, felt the warm silk of her skin, the lithe weight of her beneath him. Now he would have to accept that she was truly another man's property. Erik would never have claimed to own Christine, her soul was like a free bird. She was his, but the same time her own.

But those philosophies were dead now. As dead as his face appeared. As dead as his soul was without Christine to breathe life into him. Tonight he would inform Christine that their lessons were at an end. He had attempted it before, but now there was more reason to. He wouldn't be able to control himself after knowing what it was like to touch Christine. She was no longer free to enjoy. No matter the joy that taking what was the Vicomte's would bring him, for Christine he couldn't do that to her. She was more to him than leverage.

~o~

Christine sat in her dressing room brushing her hair out and deep in thought. How would she tell Erik that their lessons were numbered? How would she convey that they had to make the most out of each moment they had left? He was so powerful and yet so timid towards her, he would never be so forward like she secretly desired. Now that the engagement was known by all of the company, there was no way to escape the new fate she was destined for beneath Raoul on their marital bed. The very thought made her skin crawl.

The thought of lying with Erik did not make her ill, despite his hideous face and corrupt personality – but Raoul, the very thought of kissing him and being obligated to be his for the rest of her life made her sick.

Christine startled at the sound of the mirror gliding back to reveal Erik. There was something different about him from earlier today, but something similar to how he was yesterday evening. He loomed, silently just behind the entrance into the dressing room. Staring at her as he stood there rigidly.

"Erik, what is it?" Christine rose slowly to her feet, cautiously stepping towards him.

"_Nothing_." He snarled, shocking her with the fierceness in his voice.

"What has happened?" Christine questioned, reaching towards him but stopping herself in mid-motion. Did she dare to touch him when his posture was that of a cobra, coiled and ready to sink fangs into its victim?

"Nothing falls silent to me." Erik replied poetically, shifting his hard set jaw as his eyes bore into Christine's.

Christine's eyes softened and she could feel the muscles in her cheeks twitching as her eyes welled with tears. It was childish of her, but it was exactly how she felt. She felt like a lost child being taken advantage of. She was a nice person and she hated to see anyone hurting, she was willing to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of another individual.

"Please, Erik." Christine debated whether or not to reach out and touch his arm. She was afraid that he would act out and harm her like had in the past. "It's not entirely as it seems."

"Oh?" Erik mocked, "You are not engaged to the Vicomte then?"

"No. I am-"

"You are not to be the future Vicomtess?"

"I am-"

"You did not make false advances towards me?"

Christine gaped for a moment, trying to receive all of the information that was being hurled at her. "They were not false."

"They were _not_? Then why are you now engaged? Is this some game that you are playing?"

Christine risked injury by reaching out to grab his arm, trying to force reason into his mind. "I had other plans. Not for you but for Raoul. Please, you must believe me. I left the chapel with a change of heart."

"Share with me this change of heart." Erik grimaced, glancing between her tear stained face and her hand on his forearm.

"I intended to break off my engagement with Raoul." Christine trembled, feeling the weight of the admittance lifted off of her shoulders. "I couldn't marry a man I did not care for."

"But?"

"But what? There are no more buts. I intended to break the engagement _but_ he announced it before I could end it. I can't go back on it now. Propriety will not allow it."

Erik stared at her, silent, as the minutes passed by. It was not an illusion, minutes ticked by as they stood their silent and thoughtful. Her quite sniffling, the only sound in the dressing room.

"Where does this leave us?" Erik asked finally, in a quiet voice. His looming figure stepped closer to Christine. Slowly he reached out to take a hold of her arms, smoothing his leather clad hands up and down her pale arms.

"I fear, we are right back to where we were yesterday this time. I am still engaged, you are still wearing your gloves. It is as though we never..._kissed_." The very word seemed as potent as the actual action. Christine couldn't help but affix her gaze on his lips. Now, even with the mask, she could tell that his lips were not normal. She glanced up at his mismatched eyes and saw that his gaze was on her own lips.

Her heart jumped at the realisation that no matter how distant that their kisses seemed, they had happened and they would happen again. They couldn't deny it no matter how much they protested. Just like she couldn't deny that his face seemed close than it had before, much closer than it had before. She tilted her head to allow the two puzzle pieces to join together as his lips met her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as her hands, with strange familiarity, found their place behind his head keeping him there. His hands at the curve of her neck and the dip of her waist held her to him equally.

Kissing him was like the first day of spring, the breeze as it blew through the valley, like all of the instruments in the world playing in perfect accord. It took away the fears of the day, of marrying Raoul and facing Erik. She was set to marry Raoul, but was her life already sworn to Erik. Did he already completely posses her without her fully knowing. Did he already own not only her mind, her voice and her soul, but her heart and her body?

Christine reached to the hand at her waist, prying it away from her side. She felt him start to pull away from the kiss, curiously, but she leaned up into his lips to keep him there. She tugged the leather glove off of the hand, letting it return to its hold as she did likewise with his other hand. She wanted to feel his bare skin against her burning skin.

Erik was lost in the whirlpool of Christine, she was sucking him in further and further. Like quicksand that he would quickly give his life to. She was a dark intoxication, that he was not willing relinquish. She was _his_. Did she realise that with ever little touch and every twist of her lips against his, she was condemning herself to a life with him? He couldn't let her go now. The need for her had pent up over the period of the day.

Erik no longer held to rigid standards of poise, elegance, distance. He wanted to release the laces of her dress, let it slide from her angelic form, he wanted to push her down onto the bed there in the room, and he wanted to make them one, leaving no space between them ever again. He wanted to take what he had already claimed as his own, long before Raoul returned into her life.

The darkness of his life needed the light that she brought to him. She could be his saving grace. The pinnacle of his redemption. The turning point in the path he was following. She could give him the life that he didn't think he deserved.

Erik pulled away from her, his eyes burning into hers. "Make your decision. Or I will make it for you."

Christine gasped for oxygen, realising how close they were together. Realising how quickly this had evolved into what she was secretly, or not so secretly, longing for. Where was her 'prestigious' virtue that the other ballerinas tormented her about? Where were her patience and her common sense? Why was it that when she was in Erik's presence caution was thrown to the wind and she was willing to give him everything?

"I've realised something," Christine began, stroking her finger along the seam of his mask. "I've realised that I have been fooling myself for too long." She felt Erik start to shift away, fearing that she was going to admit the opposite of what she was going to say. "I've realised that the man that I care for, that I _love_, is the most beautiful man in all of the world."

"Stop."

"He is graceful, elegant, poised, and respectful. He has always asked my permission for everything, he has never taken what I haven't allowed him to take. He doesn't treat me like some naïve girl in need of a man's constant guidance to make my decisions."

Erik let out a hoarse breath, his eyes widening at her words. "Who?"

In one swift movement, Christine removed his mask – knowing that the motion would hurt him momentarily but needing it gone to prove her point. "He is a handsome man."

Erik hissed in pain, his hand flying up to cover his cheek. "You remove my mask and yet you still continue to speak of a man that cannot possibly be me. What sort of demon has possessed you?"

"It is you Erik." Christine admitted, feeling tears raining down her cheeks. "To me you _are_ beautiful. Outward beauty is not all that matters. It's the beauty beneath." Christine pressed her palm against his chest, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Raoul could be forgotten right now, the whole situation could be forgotten as long as Erik was still standing here.

**A/N: Well now. ;-)**


	11. Chapter 11

Erik pulled away from Christine's all consuming kiss, his chest heaving as he stared down at her. His head was spinning with questions and answers. He couldn't understand why Christine was accepting him. He couldn't _trust_ that she was in fact honestly admitting her feelings. Her lips felt true, her hands felt true, her voice felt true, and yet the words coming out didn't seem true. How could they be true?

Christine's body was so painfully moulded against his body that pulling away from her felt like ripping a sheet of parchment into two. Did they even after consummate their relationship to feel like two? He had forgotten the pain of his cheek from where she ripped his mask away, now he felt the ache of his heart.

"You cannot mean this," Erik shuttered as Christine's hands continued to methodically run circles across his chest. "You do not mean this."

"Erik," Christine started quietly, looking up at him curiously. "What do you mean?" She bit her fat, swollen, bottom lip as she tried to regain her composure.

"I do not ask your permission for anything. I don't know _who_ this beautiful, respectful, man is – but he is not I. I take what I want, with little remorse." Erik pulled her close again, if it was possible to be any closer to her. "I make what I want _mine_." He was drowning in her, little did she know that she would be the one to die from drowning despite that he was the one drowning.

"Erik." She gasped when he lifted her up, sweeping her into his arms and striding across the dress rooming and pressing her down onto the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking what is _mine_." Erik growled, pressing his hips against her hips, letting his weight settle against her legs. "This is the proof of the real man that I am. Not this fantasy you seem to have concocted."

Erik leaned towards Christine, ready to kiss her. "But I want this." Christine interjected attempting to press her lips against his, only to have him turn away.

"_Christine_." Erik rasped, prying away from her furiously. "Why must you be determined to drive an already crazed man towards further instantaneity?" Erik was already striding across the room, collecting his discarded gloves and making his flight towards the mirror.

"Erik, don't leave!" Christine followed after him, grabbing his arms and pulling on his clothes. "Please Erik, you don't understand. I spoke with my heart. The heart never lies."

"The heart has nothing to do with decisions. Your brain does all of your thinking. Your eyes or your ears receive information, and then your brain works through the decision. Perhaps it will be stressful or nerve racking which then causes her heart to beat faster. That's the _only_ thing your heart does." Erik shoved her away from him, fighting her hands as she desperately tried to grab at him. "Christine enough!"

"I don't want to marry Raoul, please."

"What do you propose sleeping with a dead man, such as I, will do for you?" Erik grabbed her arms, finally controlling their flailing. "Do you think it will convince Raoul not to marry you? Perhaps we should just go and find your lovely little fop and screw in front of him That will surely cease his desire to marry you."

Christine stopped fighting, staring straight in the eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean?" Erik pulled her close, his grip biting into her pale arms.

"I had this plan all worked out in my mind." Christine stared at the floor, unable to meet his cold glare. "I planned to come and tell you that I wanted to be with you. I was going to break off the engagement with Raoul. I wanted to make my home the underworld that I've come to love. But then everything was turned upside down. The whole Populaire knows now that he and I are engaged."

"And your _propriety_ is keeping you from it now?"

"Yes!"

Erik pushed her away, "If some ridiculous law is keeping you from what you want, then you are a weak excuse for a determined woman."

"It would cast shame on him."

"_It would cast shame on him_.Then let your virtue be taken by him on your de Chagny marriage bed." Erik spat out, his fist balled at his sides, his form returned to rigid and angry man once again.

"Don't say that!" Christine snarled, bringing her hand up and slapping her palm across Erik's normal cheek.

"Bitch!" Erik howled, grabbing her arm in reflex and wrenching it behind her back.

Christine let out a cry of shock, sinking to her knees in front of him. "Let go of me!"

"If I were you I wouldn't be so full of myself." Erik jerked her arm just towards the point where he knew he could harm her. "Bad things happen to those who cross the _Phantom_."

"You wouldn't hurt me!" Christine cried, trying to maintain her dignity despite feeling as though her arm would snap off at any moment. "You wouldn't hurt someone you.. _loved_."

"Because those who should have loved me haven't hurt me?" Erik shoved Christine to the ground, releasing his hold on her and watching her heaving against the floor in pain. "Because my mother, the one woman in this world who should have been able to love this face, _didn't_ care enough to care for me? Because woman after woman has turned me away when all I wanted was the gentle caresses of another human's hand on my skin? Not even money could buy me that human pleasure. Not even you, my sweet angel Christine that saved me from my suicide."

"But I love you."

"But I _do not_ love you!" Erik growled, resisting the urge of lifting her up by her intoxicating mass of curls and slamming her forcefully against the wall relishing in her cries, before tearing her damned nightgown from her young, succulent body, and indulging in cries of her ecstasy.

"You don't mean that!" Christine sobbed, looking up at him with large, pleading, eyes. "I know you love me."

"I don't deserve your love." Erik scoffed, turning towards the mirror. "This is over Christine."

"No!"

"Make no attempts to visit me. By tomorrow you will find that behind this mirror is only a layer of stone."

"No! No. _No!" _Christine jerked upwards, clutching his hand in desperation. "You can't.. You just _can't_!" Erik backed away from her, prying her hands away from his coat.

"Unhand me woman! Before you make me do something that we will _both_ regret." Erik shoved her away for the last time, slipping through the mirror and slamming the door shut behind him.

**~o~**

**A/N: It was quite funny that after I wrote this I "StumbledUpon" this quote by Neil Gaiman.**

"**Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest up and opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defences, you build up a whole suit of armour, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something stupid one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love"**

**So true I think for Erik and Christine. That's all I have to say this chapter. I'm sure they'll be a new one soon. I really hope you like this dark, turmoil filled, Erik and this poor, scared, innocent Christine. **


	12. Chapter 12

It had to be a terrible nightmare that she would wake up out of at any moment. Erik couldn't be gone from her life, that was impossible. Erik wasn't the sort of man who would give up on a conquest. He was too stubborn, too full of himself, too full of self loathing that he would never allow himself to feel true love and accept that it was in fact for him. Erik was a masochistic creature by nature and Christine knew that if there was any chance of proving to him that someone can care from you, it would take years of convincing. Or the time had passed.

She realised that her bothersome habit of pushing and pushing about a subject had caused him to crack. But she was determined that he would return once his anger had calmed down. In the light of the morning, as Christine made her way back to the dormitories to pretend she had spent the night there she could see the damage he had unleashed on her pale, fragile skin.

Dark bruises marred her arms from where he had held her as she fought to find purchase on him. His rough hands twisting her flesh beneath them as she moved. She hadn't checked to see what sort of damage would be found on her knees and legs and hips, but she knew from the amount of contact she had had with the cruel stone floors she would be marked by angry bruises.

Today, after a night of crying herself to sleep and wishing and praying that Erik was watching her through the mirror, she decided that she had to take her fate into her own hands. She dressed herself in one of her finest dresses, making her way to the manager's office before half of the company had even awoken.

She knocked her knuckles against the door, hearing a faint "Come in" from inside. She opened the door and entered, surprised to fine both Andre and Firmin with Raoul.

"Ah, Christine." Raoul gave her a boyish grin, "We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" Christine asked shyly as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She hoped her swollen lips were not so noticeable that he could tell that she had spent an evening with her lips twisting against Erik's. The very thought made her heart pound. "And what were you talking about?"

"What should happen once we are married."

"What a coincidence," Christine said softly, refraining from cringing as Raoul wrapped his arm around her waist. "I came to declare that I _will_ be the Countess."

"Is that so?"Andre asked with a tone of sarcasm in his voice.

"It is so." Christine replied firmly. "It is very so. I am capable of portraying the Countess far better than Carlotta. She is shrill and harsh, and I believe that the audience has had a taste of something softer and gentler and that that is what they want now."

"She has a poin-" Firmin started.

"She has a point? What is the matter with you Firmin?" Andre slapped his hand against the other owner's arm. "What will happen if we go back on our Prima Donna's requests?"

"Who is more capable, Monsieur?" Raoul questioned, giving Christine a questioning glance.

"Christine." Firmin replied, ignoring Andre's exasperated gasp. "The Countess is a soft spoken woman which is what makes the character that much more convincing as being the faithful wife, despite her relationship with the pageboy. It is in the damned script Andre!"

"Then there it is, I will be playing the Countess." Christine crossed her arms across her chest, looking between the two owners. "You wouldn't want to disappoint the Opera Ghost would you?"

"Christine," Raoul warned, "We have had this conversation. There is no _Opera Ghost_."

"Whatever you say Raoul," Christine returned the sceptical look, shaking her head slightly. Erik was a very real Opera Ghost, with a temper that should never be messed with.

"Then it is settled."

"Firmin" Andre howled angrily. "Whatever will we say to Carlotta?"

"Casting decisions can change. There has been no publicity yet for _Ill Mutto_. It can happen with very little hassle."

"Yes! Because an irate Prima Donna is worth the hassle?" Andre buried his face in his hands. "We're ruined!"

"I can be the Populaire's salvation." Christine said, mustering up the courage she knew she would need to portray this character without the guidance of her great tutor.

~o~

The rehearsal process went by in a whirlwind of anger, excitement, nerves, worry, and irritation. But it was worth it. She could prove to Erik, unseen though he still was, that she could handle her own wellbeing and become the star he longed for her to be.

Carlotta was paid more than Christine to settle her anger about being recast as the pageboy, but that didn't silence her from constantly berating Christine about the fact that she no doubt won the role by screwing Raoul.

The rehearsals had kept her busy and distracted from Raoul. She rarely had to attend supper with him because she was spending every spare moment perfecting the role of Countess. Still, Erik was out of her life. She tried to spend her time around places that she knew he would visit her. The dressing room, the auditorium, Box Five, and the chapel – but he never arrived.

Opening night arrived suddenly and before Christine could hardly blink her eyes the curtain had closed on her first official opening night as the star and not the stand in. In a heart pumping and exhilarating performance Christine found herself desperate to escape the masses of reporters and fans pressing for autographs and interviews. She escaped from the chaotic backstage and found her relief on the rooftop.

"It's snowing." She mumbled to herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. She glanced around at the cityscape that lay out before her. All of Paris would be buzzing with her name by tomorrow's time. This wasn't like _Hannibal_, she had honestly earned the role that she had portrayed. She had earned the love and respect from her overly adoring fans.

But had Erik been there? That was the only person she cared about impressing. She performed for him, and him alone.

"_Christine_."

Christine whirled around at the sound of her voice, carried to her ears by the wintery wind that whistled past the looming statues that adorned the roof top of the Opera House. "Who is there?" Had someone followed her to the rooftops? "I am sorry, I'm done with the interviews and autographs."

There was only silence. Had she honestly imagined the voice?

"_Christine_."

"_Who_ is there?" Christine clutched her cloak around her body protectively, glancing between statues to see if someone had followed her up and was hiding themselves in the shadows of the gargoyles and mythical creatures.

"_I am there inside your mind_."

"Erik." Christine breathed heavily, searching desperately now for the shadow that was Erik's. It had to be him, that was the only person who had ever told her that he was within her mind. "Reveal yourself to me strange angel."

"Upon wings I will come to you." Christine's gaze instantly set on the Pegasus like statue the jutted out from the rooftop.

"Erik?" She questioned as she approached, seeing a shadowy figure clutching to the wing of the statue. "I am sorry for everything that I did that to irritate you. I never meant to lose you."

The figure leapt away from the statue, landing on the ground gracefully. "Let the past be in the past. It has been four months."Erik stepped towards her, "You were impressive tonight."

"You were there?"

"Of course I would be. Why would I not see _my_ star perform?"

"You were pleased?" Christine hesitantly stepped towards him, marvelling in the fact that he was in her presence once again.

"I was very pleased." Erik reached out hesitantly, before snapping her hand up into his grasp. "But this does not please me."

Christine stared at the ring on her finger, "Please, Erik. I cannot get out of this."

"In four months you have become officially engaged to the sniffling fop then?"

"Yes, but it means nothing to me! He will never be given the same feelings as you. I do not love him." Christine was desperate to not lose him again. She pulled the ring from her fingers and let it fall to the ground where the snow was settling. "Nothing to me!"

Erik took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. "Dear, Christine." Her voice betrayed him, trembling as her soft skin pressed to his lips. "How I have missed you."

"Then why did you not return to me?"

"You were thriving without me. I did not want to be the force behind the downfall of Christine Daae."

"You have brought me to where I am today." Christine reached forwards, pressing her hand his unmasked cheek. "You are the reason that I am standing here."

"_You_ are the reason that I am still alive Christine. You do not realise how near I was to ending this miserable existence." Erik stepped closer to her, letting his hand trail up her arm and down her side, resting lightly on the curve of her waist. "You are the salvation in my life Christine."

"I love you." Christine murmured, unable to contain the words from coming from her lips. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not expect me to believe you." Erik hissed, pushing away from her. "I am not fit for the love an angel such as you. You are the untouchable force in my life."

"Do not let it be Raoul that makes me touchable to only him. Erik, please, I beg you." Christine stepped closer towards him, biting her lip nervously.

"You are damning yourself woman. You cannot tell me that you want me to _take_ you without expecting me to follow through." Erik rasped, his voice becoming gruff as he closed the distance and pressed his lips against his lips to hers.

"But it is what I want. I am only engaged to him because I do not know how to handle these overwhelming feels for you. Raoul is safe, I have to occasionally bat his wandering hands away but he is respectful and doesn't take what isn't his to take. But you, you want to possess me and I _want_ you to possess me. I want to be yours and yours alone. You own my soul, my heart, my mind. Take what is rightfully yours and own my body."

"No, it is not my _right_ to own anything expect this cursed face. That is my only right. Torment, hate, self loathing, fear and mockery. How could a man with this face own a beautiful angel such as you?" Erik groaned as she pressed herself close to him. "You are damning yourself Christine."

"This is what you do to me. You have awoken such feelings inside of me that I do not know how to cope. I do not think I can live without you in my life. I want the last thing I see as the sun sets and my eyes close to be you. The only thing I see as I wake with the sun and my eyes open is you. That's all I want. Please, believe me. Please!" Christine grasped both of his cheeks, masked and unmasked, between her petite hands. Holding him there to stare into her eyes with his mismatched ones. "It is you that I want to possess me. To take me."

"You want this wretched body to deflower the purest blossom? To stain it with my ugliness?"

"Yes."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Think of something. Had Christine asserted herself to be the Countess; Bouquet wouldn't have died, All I Ask Of You Never Happened, No "rueing" the day, nothing. Happiness would follow. Or maybe not?**

**~o~**

Christine buried her face against his chest, nuzzling her cheeks and nose and lips against the material of his finely made waist coat. She inhaled deeply the scent of Erik, breathing in the smell that she had missed so desperately for the last four months. She had missed the feel of his protectively dangerous arms wrapping around her body and holding her close. She had longed to feel that comforting touch against her back, soothing away her cares in the world.

Erik licked his lips and smirked at Christine's innocent burrowing. "You should return to your adoring crowd, before you are missed."

"They can wait." Christine laughed, leaning away from him to meet his eyes. "You're not getting rid of me that quickly."

"I believe you neglect to realize that I am in fact a male." Erik skimmed his lips against her lips. "With _very_ masculine desires."

"I haven't forgotten that. I remember that you, of all people, are a living and breathing man." Christine pulled away from his kiss, giving him a soft smile. His face was hard set and his hands held her arms stiffly. "You just cannot accept this can you?"

"Can you accept that you make me _ache?_" Erik let a groan escape from the back of his throat, his body shuddering as his eyes closed.

"Erik, we should not do this on the roof top." Christine pried herself from his grasp, feeling her own chest heaving.

"Damn you Christine! You little tease. Do you tease your little fop too?" Erik growled at her, reaching for her arm as she tried to slip past him. "I have not permitted you to leave!"

"Release me Erik." Christine held still in his grasp, not wanting to see bruises on her wrists again. "You've misunderstood me, you have. I wasn't saying that _we should not do this_, I was just saying not up here. I was hoping you would invite me to you world tonight."

"It would heed you well to get your sleep tonight," Erik released her fragile wrist, sliding his hand up her arm, stroking his cold leather hands against her skin. "You have a show tomorrow."

Christine clutched her cloak around her body, shivering with the chill of the winter air. "You've had me spend the evening when I had rehearsals to attend."

"A performance is important for my angel." Erik cradled her cheek in his hand. "You will be sure to keep yourself in the peak condition."

"But when can we make two into one?" Christine asked desperately, looking up at him with large doe eyes. She couldn't help but feel compelled to insure that they would be together.

"There is to be a Masquerade." Erik gave her a charming smile before walking past her and vanishing into the night air before she could turn around.

"Erik?" She questioned weakly, wondering where it was that he had his trap door or hidden entrance on the roof top. Without an answer she rushed towards the door that descended back into the Opera House, hoping the crowds had died down and that she could find somewhere warm to spend the evening. She had a long month and a half of shows to perform, Erik was right, she needed her rest.

~o~

"You were marvellous tonight, Christine." Raoul kissed his fiancé's cheek, wrapping a caring arm around her petite waist. "Simply breathtaking."

"Thank you," Christine laughed softly, letting her cheek rest against his shoulder as she admired her new dress in the mirror. "And thank you for this dress."

"I thought that my beautiful fiancé deserved a new dress for her closing weekend of shows." Raoul beamed from ear to ear as he watched Christine smoothing her hands over the dress. "It's gorgeous on you."

"Thank you," Christine repeated, wondering if Erik was watching from behind the two way mirror. "Speaking of dresses, I would like to chose the dress that I wear for the masquerade."

"We should make sure that our outfits match," Raoul pressed a kiss to her hair, stroking her waist. "What were you thinking?"

"Blue." Christine lied, knowing that Erik had already commissioned her remarkable red dress to go with his Red Death. It was their plan to arrive together, despite Raoul's determination to be with her at the dance. It was a terrible way to deliver the news that she no longer wished to be engaged to him, but it was going to have to happen. The masquerade was only a week away.

"I love you." Raoul turned her in his arms, giving her no response time as he pressed his lips against hers. He ignored her protesting gasp, taking the initiative to let his tongue slip into her opened lips. His hands moved to cup her ribs, just below where her chest blossomed out.

"Raoul!" Christine hissed pushing away from Raoul, desperate to get away from his assault.

"Christine, we are soon to be married. This is normal for two people who are as close as we are." Raoul tried to pull her back into his arms, but found her fighting him away.

"Leave me be Raoul. I need rest. The final curtain is tomorrow and I need rest." Christine turned away from him, only to feel his hands on her shoulders. "_Raoul_."

"Please Christine. I hunger for you." Raoul tried to set his lips against the curve of her neck, but was met by her hand brushing him away. "Why do you deny me? You have been so distant over the period of this show. I am hardly _honoured_ with your presence any longer. Who is your _lover_?"

"What?" Christine gasped, clenching her hands together.

"Don't play naïve, a woman is only distant with her fiancé when she has found someone else to unleash her desires."

"Then you are jealous of my lover," Christine paused, trying to remain composed. "The Opera Populaire."

"_Liar_." Raoul snarled, storming from the room in anger and leaving Christine to sit back and absorb everything that had happened and everything that would be happening in a week's time.


	14. Chapter 14

The grand entry way of the Opera Populaire was even grander tonight. December 31st, New Years Eve. An elegant way to bring in the new year, with festivities and music, costumes and bright colours. It was the evening when the next season of performances would be announced, the evening where new patrons donated money, and the evening that Raoul was going to announce to the public that they were officially engaged.

But Christine was not arriving on his arm tonight. She was not doing as he had expected her to, as he had nearly ordered her to. She had been vague with him about her ball gown, claiming it to be a pink dress that would look suitable beside his uniform costume. However, her dress was a blood red satin dress. The bodice was a deep 'V' shape, which revealed much of her pale chest, the lower 'V' of the dress cut down past her hips, over the full, slightly crinoline covered skirt.

She would be matching a different escort tonight. One who was inspired by the Red Death himself.

Christine had made her descent to the lower regions of the Opera House early that morning. Her hair, her make-up, her dress were all perfected in the candle light lair that she wished that she could one day call her home.

"Simply stunning." Erik whispered, his hands settling on her shoulders. His fingers splayed across the expanse of exposed skin.

"Tonight we shall be together?" Christine asked shyly, closing her eyes as his hands continued to stroke gentle circles against her skin.

"If that is still what you desire after the Masquerade." Erik pressed his lips against her shoulder blade, sliding his lips along the smooth bone.

"Is that what you want?"

Christine shuddered as Erik growled against her skin, "Always."

"Why wait?"

"My question exactly," Erik left one last kiss against her neck, "Come, our audience is awaiting."

Christine contained the whimper that threatened to rise from her throat. She had thought for one breathtaking moment that he had intended to waste no more time. Why did they have to wait until after the Masquerade, they could just not attend and find time to be together. But instead she would have to face an angry man who had been mistaken in the concern of her interest.

"Come, Christine, we have a grand entrance to make." Erik offered her his arm, letting his red velvet cape trail behind him.

"Your costume is incredible." Christine said as he walked beside her. His mask was that of a skeleton, he had used some sort of prosthetic, similar to make-up used on stage, to correct the deformity of his revealed lip and the partial part of his cheek that showed. "You created it?"

"Yes."

"Is the sword real?" Christine asked, noticing the decorated hilt at his waist.

"Of course. Your fop of a fiancé may attempt to harm you. I must be armed." Erik laughed coldly, giving her a vicious smile.

_Raoul_. What was she going to say to him to right this wrong? How could she look him in the face and know she had drug him along for the last few months. She had never really cared for him as anything other than a friend. "He's not my fiancé."

"Until you finish it he is still your fiancé."

"This is why you will not-" Christine gasped, "You do not think I can follow through with breaking off my engagement?" Christine touched the ring that was suspended on a silver chain around her neck. With a sharp tug, Christine broke the chain, staring at the sparkling ring in her palm. "This ring means nothing to me."

"Then prove that to me, to Raoul, and all of Paris' elite tonight." Erik snarled, a snicker leaving his lips. "Prove this to me and you will have proved to me that I deserve your love."

"I will not let you down." Christine took his arm again, "Didn't you say that there is an audience awaiting our entry."

"Yes, I did." Erik smirked, "However, perhaps it would prove more poignant if I were to arrive shortly after you. You make your grand entrance, take your place at Raoul's side. Break his heart and then leave with me."

"Whatever you think is best." Christine cringed, trying to picture the pain that would be on Raoul's face, the sheer humiliation. It was such a cold, malicious way to let him down – a trait that she had no doubt gained from her time with Erik. It was a very Opera Ghost gesture.

"After you," Erik motioned for her to lead the way up the flight of stairs. He had a burning desire to take flight and leave. There was no way that he could believe that she would choose him over the handsome fop. He was only setting himself up for yet another failure. She was the only reason he was still alive, it was only fitting that she would be the reason he would die.

He hardly deserved such young, beautiful, flesh to claim as his own. He had found that not even a paid whore would touch his disfigured and marred hideousness, why was she so willing to? What could she possibly gain from allowing herself to be violated, yes violated – that's what he saw it as, by a grotesque gargoyle?

"I will see you soon." Christine breathed, reaching the top of the stairs. "And then-"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself." Erik chuckled, pressing a kiss to her cheek and letting her go.

~o~

"Christine!" Meg gasped, spotting her friend making her way through the crowds. "My God! Look at you. As regal as a queen."

"And you," Christine stifled a giggle. "A monkey!" She spun Meg around, admiring her monkey costume. She had seen the design somewhere before. A monkey with symbols, a burgundy fez, and an Arabian style vest.

"Your handsome _prince charming_ has been looking all over for you. I believe to truly be Cinderella you have to have your dance with him, lose your shoe and then have him search for you."

"Oh Meg." Christine's smile fell as she clutched Meg's hand. "I have made a terrible mistake."

"What do you mea-"

"Christine!" Raoul stopped in his tracks as Christine turned to face him. His eyes dropped towards where her neck line plunged. He had never seen his fiancé dress like that. Christine had always been so prude, ashamed of costumes that had revealed more skin than she was willing to show. "You look-"

"Raoul." Christine bit her lip, taking his hand and pulling him away from Meg. "I need to tell you something."

"Where is your ring?" Raoul glanced at her hands, turning them in his hands to examine her long fingers.

"That's what I need to talk about."

"Have you lost it? If you have lost it, I can replace it. It is no question of money."

"Please Raoul."

"I can borrow a ring from someone for this evening. For show."

"Please Raoul, no!" Christine shouted over the boisterous orchestra.

"What are you ashamed of?"

"Please-"

"Let's not argue."

"No!" Christine broke away from his grasp; she pulled the ring from the valley of her bosom. Christine took Raoul's hand, placing the ring in the centre of his palm. "I cannot marry a man-" The orchestra suddenly stopped, her words silencing the guests.

"Christine what is this?" Raoul asked, trying to play off of the silence. "I apologize, she is tired."

"No, you will not silence me." Christine pushed his hands away. "I cannot and will not marry a man that I do not love."

Before Raoul could reply, laughter echoed through the grand entry way. "I believe, it is I who has won."

**A/N: Her dress is the red dress Anna Valereas wears in Van Helsing. Look it up. **


	15. Chapter 15

"Erik." Christine breathed, her eyes widening as the laughter grew louder. The attention was taken away from Raoul and her and turned towards the image of the Red Death himself, elegantly strolling down the regal staircase.

"What was that you said?" Raoul snapped, grabbing Christine's wrist and drawing her close. "What is this madness?"

"Unhand the girl _fop_." Erik clapped his hands together, his tone was nothing but bored. When Raoul didn't obey he snapped his fingers together. "Perhaps I should speak slower? Unhand. The. Girl. Fop." Erik let the 'P' pop out of his lips, before letting out another cackle of laughter.

"I will not let go of _my _fiancé."

"I believe that I _and _the rest of these good people just witnessed her breaking your engagement. Am I right?" Erik gestured grandly to the silent crowd. "You were all just singing with you hearts content to this rather joyous, and dare I say flat, orchestrations. Now why are we so silent?"

Christine couldn't fight the soft smirk that was playing across her lips. Erik was as ever sarcastic before his fearful audience. "Raoul." Christine jerked against his hold, "Please let me go."

"You are the little _whore_ that I thought you were. I knew your little play of prudence with me was an act. You are a terrible liar."

"I know I am." Christine let her arm drop, still in his hold. "I convinced myself that I loved you, when I did not." There was an audible gasp followed by Erik's snide chuckles. "He is the man I love."

"That masked _freak_? You chose that thing over me?"

"Yes." Christine gulped, stepping away from Raoul as he released her arm. She turned, seeing Erik's extended hand. "He is who I love."

"Then he will die." Raoul hissed, drawing his rapier and rushing past Christine. He bounded up the flight of stairs towards the Opera Ghost. "I will not let Christine go without a fight!"

"I must apologize, friends, enemies, acquaintances I've yet to meet!" With a clap of Erik's black leather covered hands both he and Raoul vanished from the stairs in a puff of red smoke.

"No!" Christine shouted, rushing up the stairs and finding no trace of her lover and scorned fiancé. "Madame Giry!"

The crowd turned towards the daughter and mother who had been watching the scene play out from the sidelines. "Come, Christine." The brunette dancer followed the Ballet Mistress and her daughter out of the entry way and through a concealed doorway. Vanishing from the crowd's eyes much like the Phantom and the Vicomte.

~o~

"I cannot lose Erik once I've gained my freedom, Madame Giry. Please this is not the time for games, take me to him."

"He has asked me to bring you here."

Christine sank down onto the ornately patterned chaise lounge. "He knew this would happen?"

Madame Giry shook her head, motioning for Meg to light more candles. "He had his suspicion. The Vicomte is a predictable aristocrat. Do you realise what you've done?"

"I have," Christine bit her lip. "Broken my chains of an empty marriage."

"You would rather live like a ghost with an Opera Ghost than marry a handsome Vicomte?"

Christine nodded her head soundlessly.

"Foolish girl." Madame Giry brushed Meg aside and began lighting the vast numbers of candles, the flames flooding the small chamber with orange light.

"Why has Erik asked you to bring me here?"

"He did not disclose why. You know him, always planning always plotting. Secretively of course. It is his nature. He always been such a wary boy."

"You have known since he was young?"

"Just a child, only a few years younger than you are now. I was eighteen when I found him, he was only ten or eleven. One does not know his true age." Madame Giry let out a heavy sigh. "He's always been troubled."

"I know, at least to some extent. His hands are riddled with scars."

"The gypsies were merciless."

"Mother," Meg gasped as someone knocked on the interior door of the room. "Should we answer it?"

"Of course," Christine retorted, motioning for Madame Giry to answer to door.

Hesitantly the older woman opened the door, looking through the crack first before letting the door swing open. "Good God, it's you."

"Did you doubt that I would survive?" Erik smirked as he stepped into the room, his eyes fell on Christine instantly. "Christine."

"You're alright!" Christine leapt from her seat and moved towards him, taking his hands into hers. She knew asking about Raoul would be detrimental to the rest of the evening. "Your chin." Christine wiped her finger across a thin line of blood across his chin.

"Damned fop got at least one good swing in." Erik cleared his throat, wiping his hand against the cut and looking past Christine to Madame Giry and Meg. "You two may go."

"What are we to say?"

"Nothing, silence is always recommended in these situations."

"Did you kill the fop?" Madame Giry asked.

"No. Injured but not killed. Which is a real shame because if I had killed him, I would have got him out of my life forever."

"But you did not?"

"No! Madame Giry I did not kill the fop. Surprise, surprise – I'm not the monster everyone concludes me to be. You are no longer need, _please_ leave. Before you are found annoying like the Fop." Erik pulled off his leather gloves, carelessly tossing them to the chaise lounge.

Madame Giry took Meg by elbow, leading her out. Meg looked back over her shoulder at Christine, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Alone at last." Erik smirked, sitting down on the wing chair just to the left of the bed. A bed? Christine hadn't noticed a bed before. The candlelight had revealed that the room was much more than just a chamber, it was in fact a true room.

"Is this..?" Christine questioned nervously, standing in the middle of the room nervously.

"Did you know that I have been composing a new musical?"

"No." Christine replied, realising that he was avoiding the subject.

"It is called _Don Juan_ _Triumphant_. There is one song that _Don Juan_ and _Amnita_ sing that is simple magnificent."

"Oh?"

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge. In pursuit of a wish, which till now has been silent. I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me. Dropped all defences, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me. No second thoughts, you've decided."

Christine gulped as Erik rose to his feet, strolling towards her with an air of pride and fearlessness. She was silent, everything she wanted to say seemed trivial and unimportant in this situation. Nothing could be said.


	16. Chapter 16

Erik stepped towards her, extending a hand for her to take. She let her small hand rest in his uncovered palm. She could feel a blush flaming across her chest, up her neck, and colouring her cheeks. His glare was ablaze with passion that made the fire in her belly burn hotter.

"Mon ange." Christine breathed, before he pulled her towards him in one fluid and sudden moment. His hot breath danced across her face, making her shudder. He leaned dangerously close towards her lips, teasing her as she tried to press her lips against his. She let out an exasperate sound as he ghosted his lips against hers, barely grazing them against hers.

"Patience, _Christine_." Erik rasped, rubbing gentle circles against her cheek. It was taking every fibre of his being to keep himself from prying her clothes from her body and ravaging her. If ravaging her was as simple as readings had played it out to be. He was not ready to set out and play this instrument without learning to play it with perfection.

"I've been waiting a lifetime."

"I beg to differ. You are the _only_ woman that I have ever kissed."

"And what of it?" Christine smirked trying to capture his lips, only to have him step away from her.

"You have had that pitiful little fop kissing your," Erik gulped slightly as he drew a line across her lower lip with one finger. "_Beautiful_ lips."

Christine's eyes fell closed as she absorbed the feeling of his finger sliding across her wanting lips. She wanted to feel his lips against hers again. She had been longing for that sensation since he entered the room, so brave and bold and full of himself. "But he does not make feel like this. He never has and now." Christine smiled, stepping towards him and opening her eyes. "And he never will."

"Oh Christine." Erik growled, taking her hand in his and drawing it towards his lips. Kissing his way along her long fingers before settling to passionately kissing the flesh at her wrist. "I deserve this soft, young, delicate-"

"Yes." Christine could control his slow teasing, she stepped closer towards him and cradled his cheek in her hand. Before he had time to protest she pressed her lips against his, savouring the sweet intoxication that she found.

"_Christine_." Erik groaned, pulling away from her and staring down at her with his mismatched eyes. "You want this?" Without hesitation he pulled the skeletal mask away from his face. He hissed when she cringed and turned her head away from him. "You fear me still! You only feel obligated to me. You Delilah."

"No!" Christine gasped, sinking her fingers into his soft red velvet waistcoat. "You're wrong. I love you. I do."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Yet you turn away from me, just as everyone else does?"

"I cannot deny that it startles me. For God's sake Erik, you are incomplete." Christine reached out to touch his deformed cheek, only to have him smack her hand away.

"I am well aware of the hideousness that I was born with. I was always an abomination. A mistake. You of all people do not need to remind me."

Christine shook her head as he started to move away from her, recoiling just as she had. "But, I want to be your face. Two made into one."

"My ugliness will ruin your beauty. Like the blood that would be spilt on white sheets. I do not deserve such an angel. I do not deserve a whore, much less a virginal beauty."

Christine let out an exasperated sound, "You sure know how to romance a girl." She turned away from him and moved to sit down on the chaise lounge. She picked up his black leather gloves, stroking the material and staring at them.

Erik rolled his eyes, he swept his cloak off, tossing the red velvet cape over the back of the wing chair. "Of course I know how to romance a girl. Why shouldn't I, when my only experience was with a bitter whore who took one look at this," He gestured angrily towards his face, "Spit in my general direction, threw my money back at me and left."

"I am neither a whore nor am I interested in casting you away." Christine shook her head, wanting to look anywhere but in his direction.

"Come," Christine looked up to see Erik's hand extended, he was near the bed. Was he saying what she thought that he was saying?

"Er-"

"Shh," Erik drew her close to him. "When I was first introduced to a harpsichord, I did not touch it for a week." He ran his hand from her shoulder, past the curve of her chest, waist, and let his hand settle at the curve of her hip. "Then when I first began to experiment with the fine instrument I took it each key at a time. Each day was spent drumming, over and over and _over_ again at the one note. I let the sound sink in to the very core of me."

"Why you very person is nothing but song?"

"Perhaps." Erik ran his second hand up her arm and ran it along her exposed collarbone. "But, I did not rush into the Elysian peace that I have found in music. The organ and the violin have been no different."

"Yes." Christine could not resist the moan that escaped from her lips as Erik's mouth found its place along her collarbone.

"You are my finest instrument. I will learn you better than any other instrument in my possession. I will learn every chord to play, every key to press, every note that is to be played, how to fine tune each stroke with perfect precision. I will learn how to make sweet songs rise from your very core and how to make you sing melodies that only I will ever hear."

"_Yes Erik_." Christine grabbed a hold of his shoulders and leaned her forehead against the firm muscle she found there. "Please."

"In time, my angel." Erik pressed a final kiss against her collarbone before pulling away and staring her in the eyes. "In time." He petted his fingers through her mass of curls, bringing her close to press a kiss against her lips. He ran his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entrance that she readily allowed.

But he ended the kiss far too soon for her liking, leaving her breathless and dizzy. "Erik?"

"For tonight mon petite ange, we sleep. Desires brushed aside, we can find comfort beside each other."

Taking a deep breath Christine nodded her head. Whatever he needed to become the lover she yearned for she would allow. She wanted him in a way that she knew she should be ashamed of. He had awoken a part of her she hadn't even imagined laid dormant within her.


	17. Chapter 17

Sleeping beside another person was a strange sensation. If she rolled away from him she feared that she would fall out of the bed, if she rolled towards him she could feel his hot breath agonizingly close to her face. It was a completely different sensation from when she and Meg had shared a bed throughout their lives to stay up all night and laugh and joke. Erik was a solid presence beside her who had gently stroked his hand through his hair and let his hand rest on her waist.

He was sleeping soundly and she was wide awake. How could he sleep so peacefully with her beside him in the bed? Every last never ending was on fire with the fact that he was this close to her, in such an intimate way. Sleeping beside someone who you had such strong feelings for, seemed more passionate then participating in lovemaking.

"_Christine_."Erik murmured as his arm slid over her waist, scooting her closer to him. His body curled around her as he nuzzled his face against her hair, breathing heavily.

"Hello." Christine laughed nervously, turning beneath his arm. In the low flickering light from the last remaining candles, she could see how close he was. If she moved forward even a breath, their lips would brush. "Is it time to get up?"

"No." Erik ran his hand along her side before letting it rest on her arm. "Did you sleep well?"

Christine shrugged, "No." She brushed a curl of hair out of her face, biting her lip. "It must be all of the adrenaline from tonight. The excitement of it all."

"Mhm," Erik moved his hand up to cup her cheek. He scooted closer to her and pressed a kiss against her forehead. He could feel her tensing up beside him, her body rigid as she lay there. "There's no need to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Christine insisted, blushing as she felt his lips brush against her forehead again. "Just nervous."

"As I've said," Erik replied hotly, skimming his hand along her side, his fingers just brushing the underside of her bossom. "I wish to learn how to play this instrument far beyond my abilities with the organ."

"Then I shall be as old as Madame Giry before you decide that you know how to _play_ me." Christine laughed, trying to let herself relax as he continued to run his hand up and down her side.

"You realise, I am not much younger than Madame Giry. She is forty and I am thirty-five or so."

"She said that you were ten or eleven when she found you." This time Christine felt Erik go rigid.

"Must you mention that now?" Without warning Erik rolled away from her and was rising from the bed. It was only a matter of moments before his shoes were on and he was taking heavy strides towards where he had discarded his red overcoat and hilt. "Christine, you must learn the art of graceful conversation. There are certain matters that one does not bring up in such instances. Are we clear?"

"No." Christine sat up in the bed, watching him moving about in the low candle light. She could not understand why he had turned from sensuous explorer into irritated Phantom.

"It is very simple indeed." Erik loomed near the candles, licking a finger before holding it in the flame. "If you wish to be my lover and my one true companion, which I have no doubt that you will become." He swelled with at pride at the thought that she was now truly his to take without her commitment to the Vicomte. "You must learn as I have taught Madame Giry, who still cannot obey the very simple orders. You do not discuss my life before the Opera House. _You_ will not mention the gypsies or the torture or the maiming that I experienced. Do not even mention the scars that riddle my body. Accept that they are there and forget what terrible ways I received them. _Forget_ what you think you know and what slander Madame Giry has told you. I am the only one who knows the true extent of torture and pain that I received. The brutality that no innocent child should endure." His voice lacked his normal seductive melodies, his tone was marred with anger and frustration.

"I-"

"I don't want your apologies." Erik spat, clenching his fists at his sides. "You forget what I could do to you."

"No-"

Erik waved his hand, motioning for her to be silent. "Do not try to patronize me. You forget _who_ I am. I am the most feared _Phantom of the Opera_, I am the every present _Opera Ghost_. I am a master musician, a mason, a murderer, a madman, a monster, and a magician. You have been fortunate enough to find yourself in my good graces. But if you continue to play this infuriating game with me."

"I am playing no game!" Christine nearly shouted, completely lost in whatever his tirade was really about. "Please, you must understand."

"Do not think me naïve Christine. I have experienced far more than your young and innocent mind could ever conceive. Which is, for one reason, why I am in disbelief that I could possibly be cared for by such a deceitful and beautiful angel." Erik swept his cape behind him, fiddling with the pins that held that costume in place. "I do not believe for one second that you do not have an alternative motive."

"What motive could I possibly have?" Christine snapped, jerking the bed covers away from her legs. "You have made it abundantly clear that this face you have is so hideous that not even a whore would have you. So why would I, this astute beauty as you claim me to be, be interested with gaining some grace with the feared Phantom? It has not won me any grand roles! I was the lead of _Hannibal_ by sheer chance. The Countess, though I was cast by you, as it was a failure until I, _I_ and only I spoke for myself and won the role. You see, you have very little voice with these new managers. You are nothing but a weak man hiding behind the smoke and myth behind a disfigurement that you are more afraid of than anyone else."

Erik stood silent for a moment, before turning away from her. "Go."

"Wh-"

"Go."

"Eri-"

"Get out of here!" Erik screamed, his words piercing her like a dagger. She fumbled with the sheets, gathering her shoes, having time enough to hold them in her hands as she scurried to the door. "Christine." She didn't dare look over her shoulder at him as she reached for the doorknob. Even if he said his name, she doubted he honestly had anything that wasn't cruel to say to her.

~o~

"Oh Father," Christine knelt at the image of her father, tears streaming down her cheeks and falling in rain like droplets on the cold stone floor beneath her skirts. "Father, what am I doing? How can this be the path you wish me to take? Every day brings a new surprise, ones that I do not wish to be part of." Shaking she brushed away a tear as it slid down the end of her nose.

"Please, Father, give me some answer. I know that you can show me what you wish for me. Oh Father, I wish that you were still here with me. Why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to leave me Father?"

Christine turned at the sound of the door opening up the staircase. She waited silently to see who it was that was descending the stairs. "Christine, good Heavens child. What is the matter?" Madame Giry rushed to her side. "Christine, what has happened?"

"Madame Giry," Christine wrapped her arms around the elder woman, burying her face in her neck.

"Has he hurt you?" Madame Giry ran her hand over Christine's hair, trying to comfort her as she continued to sob. "What has he done?"

"Nothing." Christine shook her head, trying to wipe her tears away as she leaned away from Madame Giry. "He thinks that I do not want to be with him. He thinks it is nothing but a ruse to bask in his power. He thinks that I do not. That I do not love him."

"Do you love him?" Madame Giry cupped her cheek, trying to see some sense in all of this.

"Yes."

"Oh child," Giving Christine a sympathetic smile, "Then you have embarked in a journey, that I fear will have no happy outcome. Erik is not a man that is to be loved. He is to be revered and obeyed."

**A/N: Oh my... Was this any good? This chapter felt terrible to write. _**


	18. Chapter 18

Christine tucked her feet beneath her, smoothing her hands over her white chemise. She glanced across the room at her red dress hanging over one of the chairs at the table. Madame Giry's chamber was part bedroom and part living area. She was still trembling even with a heavy blanket wrapped around her otherwise bare shoulders.

"Here, tea." Madame Giry handed her the teacup.

"Is it Jasmine?"

"Yes, it has calming properties." The older woman stroked her hand over Christine's hair, wishing that she knew some way to truly calm her down. She looked terrible. Her make-up had streamed down her red stained cheeks and her hair was unravelled and dishevelled. "Perhaps it will help you get to sleep for the remainder of this night."

"I don't want to sleep." Christine sipped the tea, staring emptily at the stone floor. How could she ever go to sleep again with all of these thoughts spinning in her head? Would Erik ever come to some sort of senses?

"Christine, do not let this destroy you. For thirty years I have tried to understand him. I have fought with and dealt with his constant mood swings and insufferable personality. You are young, you have a life ahead of you that does not need to have him in it."

Christine looked up at Madame Giry, "But did he care for you the way that he says he cares for me?"

"No. He used me only to stay alive and benefit himself."

"But he loves me."

"He does not love anyone but himself, Christine. Do not believe that he does not only desire you for some beneficial reason for himself."

"No!" Christine shouted, nearly dropping the hot tea on her lap. "He does love me. I know he does."

"Christine, are you truly willing to trade the life with a Vicomte; calm, quiet, secure, and peaceful for a life with a madman Phantom? That would be a life full of tears, anguish, strife, fighting."

"I-" Christine shook her head, "I cannot picture myself with Raoul or anyone that is not Erik."

"You poor child." Madame Giry stepped away from the bed, "I would not subject my worst enemy to a life with him. He is a monster Christine. He will never see you as his equal. You will always be a tool for him."

"He says that I am the finest instrument he's ever played."

Madame Giry stared back at the starry-eyed girl. That was what Christine was; she was no more than an innocent girl being led astray by the monster she brought into the Opera House. Erik was a vicious wolf prowling upon a fragile lamb that did not know the difference between predator and friend. She had been too long under the beguiling image of the Phantom of the Opera. A man cloaked in enticing darkness, seductive words, and alluring actions. When in truth the man beneath the mask was far more twisted than his face. His lines of consciousness were blurred with the abuse and suffering he had endured. He was no longer a human with authentic emotions. He lived for himself and himself alone.

"What he says is not always what he means, Christine." The ballet mistress moved to stir the fire, "He is student of human nature and only that. His mind is not like ours. He only sees, what should be a fellow human, as an enemy. I have known him for nearly thirty years and still do not have trust with him or in him. He is hostile and dangerous. At any moment the thin line of morality will snap and he will unleash a demonic side of himself."

"He's not like that." Christine insisted, feeling her grip on the teacup tightening. "I know him."

"You know what he wants you to know Christine."

"He has control of himself. There have been times that I feared he would unleash this pent up power and anger on me. But he refrains. He has control. More control than you believe."

"You are young Christine. You have a future ahead of you that should be full of beauty and joy. I will not let you waste your life on a man that does not deserve you. I have wasted thirty years of my life serving him, _foolishly_. I am only the Ballet Mistress here because it benefited him to have a confidant on the inside. Monsieur Reyer feared him and obeyed him, their relationship proved providential for the Opera House. Reyer's health began to fail towards his departure and he sold his ownership to Andre and Firmin without Erik's knowledge. And that is why this Opera House shall fail. Management that ignores their master will meet no good end."

"Madame Giry, when I am with Erik I feel like that is where I am supposed to be. When we have kiss-"

Her eyes shot wide, "He has kissed you?"

"Many times. It is nothing like when Raoul kissed me. It stirs this fire within me that I did not know even existed. Oh, Madame Giry. When Raoul kissed me I thought that was how a kiss was supposed to feel. I did not understand why so many ballerinas seem starved for their men's attentions. His kiss felt distant, cold, unfamiliar. But Erik's felt as though I would be lost in it for all eternity. It was hot and passionate, I felt as though I knew him inside and out. Oh, I don't even know how to explain it."

"Has he removed his mask?"

"Yes. Of his own accord."

Madame Giry pressed her hand against her chest, "I do not believe it. You have become this close to him?"

"We were to become one tonight." Christine whispered, feeling ashamed of the fact. "But then all of this happened." She took a long sip of the tea, realising that if she kept holding it that she was going to end up dropping it.

"Then he is capable of some sort of emotions." Madame Giry mumbled to herself, glancing towards Christine. Why was it that Erik was interested in Christine Daae? She was a young girl who had only recently begun to become beautiful. It was during _Hannibal_ that she began to grow out of her gawky appearance. She admitted that when she had been Christine's age she too had been gawky and she did not grow out of the phase. But of all of the girls in the Opera House, what made Christine special? What quality did she posses that Erik craved?

"Madame Giry, I'd like to rest. I'll go back to the dormitories."

"Stay in your dressing room dear. You will be left alone by the other girls. Go and rest."

Christine rose, leaving the teacup on the bedside table and hugging the blanket around her shoulders. "Madame Giry, if Raoul calls-"

"I will inform him that you are ill."

"Thank you," Christine smiled softly. "And if Erik calls." She laughed, "Erik doesn't call. He just comes. Never mind."

Christine slipped out of Madame Giry's room, making her way towards her dressing room. She needed time to rest and think. Was there anything left to rekindle with Erik? Was he as terrified as she was of the passion that was there? Was that why they spared every time they got close to consummating their twisted relationship? The tension between them was causing consternation and strain on their relationship.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I apologize to anyone if you have not been enjoying this story. In all honesty I feel like Leroux and Lloyd-Webber have softened the character of Erik and contained Christine. They're such free creations with emotions, concerns, desires, wishes. That's how I write them, I don't control them I let them come out as I type. Nothing's planned. It just happens. Some of my viewers have gone down over the chapters and I fear I've upset some of you. If you have concerns or issues, private message me. I'm always open to justify why I've wrote what I have. **

**~o~**

The lair looked beautiful tonight. It reminded her so much of the first time he had taken her down into his underworld. He had been elegant and refined, his own excitement matching hers. The candles were all aglow with flickering flames, casting light along the way to the gondola.

His hand lingered as he helped her into the boat, his eyes shining with a piercing intensity. Was he thinking the same thoughts as she was? Was this the pinnacle moment in their relationship? Would everything finally become right between them? Mist swirled across the lake as Erik rowed the boat across the vast lake. Tonight the lake did not remind her of a glassy mirror, tonight it reminded her of the depth and size of tonight.

What would her father say if she did this with Erik? Wasn't she told from an early age to be virtuous. No man would want her if she ruined herself before marriage. Erik seemed like a man who would offer a lifetime of devout commitment to her and only to her – but nothing would be legal. If she became pregnant she would be considered nothing but a whore, a woman of no virtue.

But could such beautiful feelings be wrong? Though the flames that burned in her stomach could easily be the flames of Hell within her, leading her and tempting her in the wrong direction – she didn't care. She wanted to be with Erik. For so many years of her life she had heard the other ballerinas talking of their romances and relationships. They spoke of the liberation it brought them. They talked about the emotions it released, the pleasure, the passion. That was what she was hoping for. It would make Erik a different man, she just knew it would. He would finally relinquish the control he had and succumb to the beauty of being with her.

Erik held his hand out, helping her from the boat. She lost her footing, stumbling over the stones under her feet. Before she could gather herself, she was in Erik's arms and he was kissing her. When had he started kissing her? When had he started unlacing her dress? When had started to – oh.

Christine's eyes flew open as she reached out in the darkness of her room for the form she had been holding so close to her in her dreams. He was no more than a figment of her imagination. If only he could have been so simple. Just a dream, just a ghost that could pose no real harm, without a body and without temptation.

How could she imagine that being with him would solve all of the problems? If there were so many issues between them before they were together what would prevent there from being worse conflicts after they were together? After she had given him her only shred of innocence, condemning her to a life of shame. How was that a smart plan?

She hoped that it would prove to him that she cared for him, but she doubted that, even then, he would not accept her emotions as true. But she at least knew that she had somehow got farther with him than Madame Giry had expected. He was letting her inside of the strong standing barricade he'd erected around himself, protecting himself from anyone who posed a threat. It was the gypsies who had tortured him that were at blame for his guarded behaviour. He was afraid of being hurt again.

But thirty years had passed, he should be able to overcome his past and put it to good use in his future. When her father died she'd sworn she'd never be able to love someone without the fear of them too dying. Leaving her alone in a strange new world. But she had taken it in stride, she'd made friends at the Opera House that she loved dearly. If only he could see that life, death, pain, and happiness were something that everyone experience in life – maybe then he could accept her.

Christine buried her face in her pillow, wishing that she could forget everything and sleep. But even her sleep had betrayed her and taunted her with what she was terrified to want. To be with him as a woman and a man seemed like a step into a strange new world where she couldn't tell if the ground was true or if it was a never ending fall into an eternity she was not willing to be part of.

~o~

Erik's show of anger and hostility was only for himself. His realm was empty, void of any living soul beside himself. The shattering glass and torn music were only for his own amusement. They were not show for any cowering human. It was his own frustration and fatigue that played out before him. A vase of red roses met their fate on the cold stone ground, shattering to the ground in a clatter of glass and ruined blossoms.

Erik took a lit candle in his hand, passing his finger through the flame before throwing the wax to the ground with the roses. Smirking as the blood red roses caught fire. As they were absorbed in flames he couldn't help but see some comparison to himself, dressed in the Red Death, consumed by the flames of passion and anger.

Every fibre of his being had told him to ignore waiting. She was there, she was willing, she was free. But he couldn't bring himself to harm her in a fit of rage and passion. She meant more to him than someone who would finally be with him. She meant the music that he made to him. She was the notes and melodies that made the songs that filled his heart and soul. He couldn't use her like some whore.

To have her beside him the bed had nearly been more than he could handle. But she had slept so stiffly that there had been no chance for them to brush against each other beneath the sheets. Everything had been safe up until the moment that they had both awoken. Then the torment of having her so close and yet so far away had invaded his mind and he had forced her away. He couldn't let himself lose control and harm her. He had caused enough harm with his hands, hurting Christine would not be added to the list.

If she wasn't so damn stubborn, so determined and insistent she would be safer. He was not a man that you could push without having sever repercussions.


	20. Chapter 20

When Christine awoke from her fitful morning of sleep, she discovered that she was not alone in the dressing room. Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, watching her silently was the masked man that had plagued her dreams and nightmares. Her heart leapt into her throat as she slowly set up in the bed, clutching her bedclothes to her chest.

There was a tense, silent air between them as they met each other's gaze. Neither speaking as they sat, eyes locked on one another. Blood was drumming in her ears, her pulse racing with quiet fear. Madame Giry had been correct, Erik was a man to be feared. Though her heart ached with love for him, she found that the change between them was fearfully strained.

Erik drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair, an almost impatient gesture despite his unmoving form. Christine licked her lips hesitantly, wanting to look away but unable to break the line. Nothing had happened between them except for a few, or many, heated and angry words. They had both said their fair share of them. Why should there suddenly feel like a ravine between them? Was it because they had been so near to being with each other and stopped? Had it made the passion turn cold? Was it the same difference with lovers who broke apart?

There were so many questions racing through Christine's mind. Questions she wished she had innocently asked the "experienced" ballerinas before it would have become scandalous for her to ask. Now it would seem that she was asking it for the sake of whatever eluded relationship that she had with the masked man in the Red Death costume. Heaven forbid that she give them anything more to talk about. She was sure that Raoul would do his own scorned damage to her name. She didn't sexual questions to tarnish what was left of her dignity.

But if she was so innocent and naïve about the passionate relationship that she not-so-secretly longed for, wasn't he her equal? After all he had said that not even a paid whore would lie with him. He was as much a nervous virgin as she was. Despite his overwhelming proud and powerful disposition that he played so fearfully well. Was that what was making everything difficult? They were both afraid of the unknown.

Christine couldn't believe that Erik was incapable of love or accepting love. Madame Giry was wrong, she could see the emotion in his eyes, feel it when they kissed. It was real. It was there. It would just have to take time, like everything else in life. Patience and time would make everything work. Or so she hoped.

Erik was the first to move, rising to his feet but never breaking the gaze. He stepped towards her with slow even steps, his boots echoing with each stride. Soon he was standing right beside her bed. Cautiously Christine sat up in the bed, tucking her knees beneath her body. She reached out, stretching towards his mask.

"Trust me."

With a gentle tug she pulled the mask away, slowly as it strained from the adhesive he used to keep it in place. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. Not when she was trying her best to gain his trust.

"Christine?" His eyes narrowed slightly as the mask finally gave and fumbled into her trembling hands. His hands fisted at his sides, resisting the instinctual urge to cover his disfigurement. He was giving her this single chance to prove whatever it was that she was determined to prove to him by removing his mask.

"Believe me." Christine breathed, tracing her finger along the curves of his knotted skin. The mask rested in her lap as she sat up farther to be close to equal levels with him. "Just believe me."

"Believe what?" He questioned curiously, his mismatched eyes still boring into hers, searching for her soul with in her blue pools.

"Me." Christine bit her lip nervously, as her fingers examined his ruined cheek.

"Why?" Erik let out a heavy sigh, not a relaxed sigh though it was more of a frustrated sigh.

"Because I love you," Christine covered his unmarred cheek, giving him a weak smile. She searched his eyes before leaning in and pressing her lips against the mangled flesh. "I have no reason to lie to you or deceive you." She pressed her lips against him again, feeling him respond this time. His arm crept around her waist, pulling her up towards him.

To feel her willing touching his disfigurement with no coercing. She had chosen to touch his flesh, to kiss his bloated lips. To wrap her arms around his neck and tangle her fingers in his wig. But even that she removed, letting her fingers tangle through the paler and thinner hair beneath. He shuddered under her gentle caresses, grasping her torso between his strong hands and pulling her closer.

"Christine?" Erik rasped as their lips broke apart, their lungs starving for oxygen. She gave him a nervous smile, leaning back to kiss him again. Instead of letting her kiss him, he trailed kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. He let the anger, the fear, and the hostility fade between them.

Christine's eyes were wide as she held to his shoulders, she nodded slowly pressing her forehead to his forehead. "Just trust me."

Erik's mismatched eyes bore into hers, his hot breath dancing across her face as he tried to think, to comprehend what she said. He ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling her shiver beneath the touch. Did he trust her? He let her touch his face, though disgruntle about it. He let her kiss him, let instigate the kisses. He let her see him in moments of strength and weakness. Was that trust?

Erik tilted his lips to kiss her bottom lip, letting his teeth scrape against the tender skin. "Remove my waistcoat." He hissed, moving his lips along her jaw and towards the curve of her neck. She complied, her fingers finding the few buttons that held the jacket on. She pushed from his shoulder in one fluid motion. "My shirt." Christine bit her lip to contain a strange desire to moan as his kiss deepened on her neck. She fumbled with the shirt, untucking it from his trousers and pulling it up over his body.

Her eyes widened slightly when she could see, for once, the full expanse of scars that riddled his body. She bit her lip and looked up at him, cupping her hand against his cheek and kissing him. He realised something that had been completely foreign until now. It was not that he needed to learn to play her as an instrument, but that he needed to learn to play the instrument of trust. Without trust he would be incapable of giving himself to her, or feeling worthy of taking her. To be with her, she had to be his equal. Not that she wasn't already so much greater than him, but he viewed her as a deceitful human that was incapable of holding his trust. Now, he saw that she was the only person in the world that he knew, that was capable of carrying his trust.

Her touch, the gentle caress that could only come from Christine Daae, was what he had been deeply needing for his entire life. Finally he realised that she was truly his salvation. Not just the angel that came and touched his life, sparing him from ending what had – until this day been his miserable existence. Christine was the saving grace that was meant to bring light into his dark life. She was love.

Something he had been without from the day he was born. No mothers love, no brotherly love, no friendly love. Until Christine, came into his life. Now he knew what love was. A love he had been craving for so long was finally real.

Erik held her to him, his hands resting firmly at her waist. He pulled her towards him, before leaning forward, using a free hand to scoop her legs out from under her and lay her back against the bed. He sat back and admired the beautiful angel before him. Her hair was sprawled beneath her head, her white clad body lay still as her eyes questioningly looked up at him.

"Do not worry." Erik started nervously, mustering his determination and pressing on. He was nervous to explore Christine, inexperienced and unknowledged. Christine deserved better than a deformed man, fumbling around in a poor attempt to make love to her.

Christine laughed shyly, a small smile playing across her lips. "I'm not worried. I'm nervous. Terribly nervous." Christine looked away, trying to stop trembling.

Meticulously Erik explored everything there was to explore of Christine Daae. The woman that he loved, the woman that he let see him bare and exposed, the woman that he trusted. He had only been seen bare and exposed to the eyes of gypsy scum and jeering onlookers. But now he was exposed willingly to a woman who cherished and accepted him.

Come heaven, come hell. He would stand beside Christine Daae. He would trust her and love her. She had saved him and he would always protect her. She had taught him to trust another person and that was all that mattered now. Finally he knew love.

**Fin.**


End file.
